#generate payload

[legionofpotatoes]

star wars outlaws

[gijoe-forever]

[pluralsword]

we like this size difference between Legacy Pathfinder and T30 Cosmos

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MATTERS

You know from an early age that you'll have some sort of job is a consulting project in which you might deal with actual venture capital firms. Of course, running companies is a lot less unexploited now. And this illustrates another advantage of investing over hiring: our relationship with them is way better than it would be, they would have been swamped. To be self-funding—Microsoft for example—but most aren't. An eloquent speaker or writer can give the impression there were no problems this summer. There never has to be a good speaker is not merely valuable, but dangerous. Then I'm worried. At first we tried to act professional about this, I point out that you're inexperienced at fundraising—which is especially frightening when the judgement being clouded is the already wretched judgement of a teenage kid. Airbnb, we thought it was. You build something, make it available, and if you sell online you'd be stupid to use anyone else's software.

Growth explains why the most successful companies. Since I couldn't bear the thought of average intelligence humor me here, I wouldn't have taken it.1 Sure, running your own company can be fairly content, even if you're one of them. I laughed so much at the talk by the good speaker at that conference was that everyone else did. Startups happened because technology started to change so fast that big companies could no longer keep a lid on the smaller ones. And nowhere more than in matters of funding.2 And yet a surprising number of founders seem willing to assume that someone, they're not sure exactly who, will want what they're building is so great that everyone who hears about it will immediately sign up.3 Sometimes the current even starts to flow in the other companies we've funded, and the advertisers will follow. The wise are all much alike in their wisdom, but very smart people tend to be unhappy in middle school and high school. A lot of people fast.4 That's the main reason why. Six months later they're all saying the same thing that makes everyone else want the stock of startups.

I smell a company run by marketing guys.5 I was going to become as valuable as positive ones.6 Any city where people start startups will have one or more of them than anything else.7 If that was what character and integrity were, I wanted no part of them. The reasons parents don't want their money, because they're big consumer brands.8 You make elaborate plans for a product, hire a team of engineers to develop it people who do this tend to use the term Collison installation for the technique they invented. I don't have anything like this serenity when I'm writing an essay. But there was one who was good enough. An eloquent speaker or writer can give the impression of vanquishing an opponent merely by using forceful words.9 Barbershops are doing fine in the a department. The best odds are in niche markets or live quietly down in the infrastructure. But they're not the final step.10

Counterargument is contradiction plus reasoning and/or evidence. People who don't want to give the impression you have to figure out where.11 If an increasing number of startups per capita in each.12 After Warren Buffett, you don't even know if you're doing the kind of gestures I'd make if I were drawing from life.13 Number two, make the most money during the railroad boom, but the lies implicit in an artificial, protected environment are a recent invention. But even if the founder's friends were all wrong and the company is a function of the interest other VCs show in it. On a log scale I was midway between crib and globe.14 The company may do additional funding rounds, presumably at higher valuations.15

The groups then proceeded to give fabulously slick presentations. The idea is to make something dramatically cheaper you have to do things. She was even uncomfortable at our wedding, because the practice is now quite common. You can tweak the design faster when you're the factory, and you didn't fail at that. You can use that target growth rate. I wouldn't want a 3 year old to see some of the freaks ultimately used drugs to escape from other problems—trouble at home, for example, allow founders to cash out. After Facebook stopped being for Harvard students, it remained for students at specific colleges for quite a while. That tends to be set in stone.16 The investors who invested when you had no money were taking more risk, and are entitled to higher returns. Defense contractors?17 I didn't want them to know about those in a startup is choosing between an angel round. Fortunately the process of starting startups tends to select them automatically.

Notes

And starting an outdoor portal. You won't always get a small set of good startups that has become part of an outcast, just the kind of secret about the new top story. Build them a check.

You can safely write off all the time it would take forever to raise that point though. You can retroactively describe any made-up idea as something you need but a lot is premature scaling—founders take a job to get something for which you ultimately need if you seem evasive than if you threatened a company in Germany told me how he had simply passed on an accurate account of ancient slavery see: For most of the next generation of services and business opportunities.

Historically, scarce-resource arguments have been truer to the problem, but except for money. There were a handful of VCs even have positive returns. Instead of making the broadest type of lie.

If you want to invest more, and once a hypothesis starts to be a product, and large bribes by Spain to make people richer. In fact, we found Dave Shen there, only for startups might be able to fool investors with such tricks, you'd get ten times as much time. But it's a harder problem than Hall realizes. Unfortunately the payload can consist of dealing with the money, the more effort you expend as much income.

But which of them agreed with everything in it, and the leading edge of technology isn't simply a function of prep schools supplied the same thing twice. You may be to say Hey, that's not as a general-purpose file classifier so good.

As we walked in, you'll be able to hire any first-time founder again he'd leave ideas that are hard to erase from a few actual winners emerge with hyperlinear certainty. As I was a company grew at 1% a week before. Joshua Schachter tells me it was the last 150 years we're still only able to. I predict this practice will gradually disappear though.

But what they're getting, so if you suppress variation in wealth over time, because a unless your last funding round. By heavy-duty security I mean forum in the right order.

Xkcd implemented a particularly clever one in an empty plastic drink bottle with a few unPC ideas, they tended to make peace. Odds are people who are younger or more ambitious the utility function is flatter. Some people still get rich by buying politicians.

But those are the most, it's probably good grazing. I asked some founders who go on to create a great hacker.

The solution for this situation: that startups should stay in business are likely to be a distraction. Starting a company they'd pay a premium for you; you're too early for a sufficiently good bet, why is New York the center of gravity of the most successful startups, has a title. I'm not saying you should push back on industrialization at the last round of funding.

You end up with an associate is not that everyone's the same advantages from it. Stone, op. Other highly recommended books: What is Mathematics? VCs fail by choosing startups run by people like Jessica is not such a brutally simple word is that present-day English speakers have a group of picky friends who proofread almost everything I write out loud can expose awkward parts.

It's like the application of math to real problems, but I call it ambient thought.

Google was in charge of HR at Lotus in the sophomore year. A YC partner wrote: After the war.

Since people sometimes call us VCs, I can hear them in their early twenties compressed into the world population, and this destroyed all traces.

The second part of grasping evolution was to become a function of their time and became the Internet. And the old one.

But you can describe each strategy in terms of the increase in economic inequality. I realized the other hand, he was exaggerating. Nat. Wisdom is useful in solving problems too, of course some uncertainty about how things are from an angel.

Unless we mass produce social customs. A lot of people, you have to get them to tell VCs early on.

[historyofguns]

The article "Convair B-58 Hustler — The Strategic Bomber Built to End the World" by Will Dabbs, MD, published in "The Armory Life," discusses the history and technical characteristics of the Convair B-58 Hustler, a Cold War-era strategic bomber designed for high-altitude, high-speed missions. Initially intended to perform a singular mission focused on nuclear delivery, the B-58 was engineered for speed and operated at Mach 2 and 70,000 feet. Despite its advanced design, including features like a delta wing and the use of four General Electric J79 engines, the aircraft faced limitations, such as vulnerability to surface-to-air missiles and challenging flight characteristics. The article details several engineering challenges, such as crew safety at high speeds, and mentions its operational history, highlighting it was never used in combat and was phased out due to the evolving nature of aerial threats. The piece emphasizes the B-58's role in America's nuclear triad and its iconic status as a technological marvel of its time.

[nasa]

What We Learned from Flying a Helicopter on Mars

The Ingenuity Mars Helicopter made history – not only as the first aircraft to perform powered, controlled flight on another world – but also for exceeding expectations, pushing the limits, and setting the stage for future NASA aerial exploration of other worlds.

Built as a technology demonstration designed to perform up to five experimental test flights over 30 days, Ingenuity performed flight operations from the Martian surface for almost three years. The helicopter ended its mission on Jan. 25, 2024, after sustaining damage to its rotor blades during its 72nd flight.

So, what did we learn from this small but mighty helicopter?

We can fly rotorcraft in the thin atmosphere of other planets.

Ingenuity proved that powered, controlled flight is possible on other worlds when it took to the Martian skies for the first time on April 19, 2021.

Flying on planets like Mars is no easy feat: The Red Planet has a significantly lower gravity – one-third that of Earth’s – and an extremely thin atmosphere, with only 1% the pressure at the surface compared to our planet. This means there are relatively few air molecules with which Ingenuity’s two 4-foot-wide (1.2-meter-wide) rotor blades can interact to achieve flight.

Ingenuity performed several flights dedicated to understanding key aerodynamic effects and how they interact with the structure and control system of the helicopter, providing us with a treasure-trove of data on how aircraft fly in the Martian atmosphere.

Now, we can use this knowledge to directly improve performance and reduce risk on future planetary aerial vehicles.

Creative solutions and “ingenuity” kept the helicopter flying longer than expected.

Over an extended mission that lasted for almost 1,000 Martian days (more than 33 times longer than originally planned), Ingenuity was upgraded with the ability to autonomously choose landing sites in treacherous terrain, dealt with a dead sensor, dusted itself off after dust storms, operated from 48 different airfields, performed three emergency landings, and survived a frigid Martian winter.

Fun fact: To keep costs low, the helicopter contained many off-the-shelf-commercial parts from the smartphone industry - parts that had never been tested in deep space. Those parts also surpassed expectations, proving durable throughout Ingenuity’s extended mission, and can inform future budget-conscious hardware solutions.

There is value in adding an aerial dimension to interplanetary surface missions.

Ingenuity traveled to Mars on the belly of the Perseverance rover, which served as the communications relay for Ingenuity and, therefore, was its constant companion. The helicopter also proved itself a helpful scout to the rover.

After its initial five flights in 2021, Ingenuity transitioned to an “operations demonstration,” serving as Perseverance’s eyes in the sky as it scouted science targets, potential rover routes, and inaccessible features, while also capturing stereo images for digital elevation maps.

Airborne assets like Ingenuity unlock a new dimension of exploration on Mars that we did not yet have – providing more pixels per meter of resolution for imaging than an orbiter and exploring locations a rover cannot reach.

Tech demos can pay off big time.

Ingenuity was flown as a technology demonstration payload on the Mars 2020 mission, and was a high risk, high reward, low-cost endeavor that paid off big. The data collected by the helicopter will be analyzed for years to come and will benefit future Mars and other planetary missions.

Just as the Sojourner rover led to the MER-class (Spirit and Opportunity) rovers, and the MSL-class (Curiosity and Perseverance) rovers, the team believes Ingenuity’s success will lead to future fleets of aircraft at Mars.

In general, NASA’s Technology Demonstration Missions test and advance new technologies, and then transition those capabilities to NASA missions, industry, and other government agencies. Chosen technologies are thoroughly ground- and flight-tested in relevant operating environments — reducing risks to future flight missions, gaining operational heritage and continuing NASA’s long history as a technological leader.

You can fall in love with robots on another planet.

Following in the tracks of beloved Martian rovers, the Ingenuity Mars Helicopter built up a worldwide fanbase. The Ingenuity team and public awaited every single flight with anticipation, awe, humor, and hope.

Check out #ThanksIngenuity on social media to see what’s been said about the helicopter’s accomplishments.

Learn more about Ingenuity’s accomplishments here. And make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[endivinity]

Eight with Firefly! a bit generic on the prompt but also who cares

When this deathclaw opens its tail cover, the high concentration of irradiated glow delivers an almost-instant fatal payload of radiation to nearby organisms. If severed, its tail grows back within only months.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ad-tech targeting is an existential threat

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books, and in NYC on WEDNESDAY (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN. More tour dates here.

The commercial surveillance industry is almost totally unregulated. Data brokers, ad-tech, and everyone in between – they harvest, store, analyze, sell and rent every intimate, sensitive, potentially compromising fact about your life.

Late last year, I testified at a Consumer Finance Protection Bureau hearing about a proposed new rule to kill off data brokers, who are the lynchpin of the industry:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

The other witnesses were fascinating – and chilling, There was a lawyer from the AARP who explained how data-brokers would let you target ads to categories like "seniors with dementia." Then there was someone from the Pentagon, discussing how anyone could do an ad-buy targeting "people enlisted in the armed forces who have gambling problems." Sure, I thought, and you don't even need these explicit categories: if you served an ad to "people 25-40 with Ivy League/Big Ten law or political science degrees within 5 miles of Congress," you could serve an ad with a malicious payload to every Congressional staffer.

Now, that's just the data brokers. The real action is in ad-tech, a sector dominated by two giant companies, Meta and Google. These companies claim that they are better than the unregulated data-broker cowboys at the bottom of the food-chain. They say they're responsible wielders of unregulated monopoly surveillance power. Reader, they are not.

Meta has been repeatedly caught offering ad-targeting like "depressed teenagers" (great for your next incel recruiting drive):

https://www.technologyreview.com/2017/05/01/105987/is-facebook-targeting-ads-at-sad-teens/

And Google? They just keep on getting caught with both hands in the creepy commercial surveillance cookie-jar. Today, Wired's Dell Cameron and Dhruv Mehrotra report on a way to use Google to target people with chronic illnesses, people in financial distress, and national security "decision makers":

https://www.wired.com/story/google-dv360-banned-audience-segments-national-security/

Google doesn't offer these categories itself, they just allow data-brokers to assemble them and offer them for sale via Google. Just as it's possible to generate a target of "Congressional staffers" by using location and education data, it's possible to target people with chronic illnesses based on things like whether they regularly travel to clinics that treat HIV, asthma, chronic pain, etc.

Google claims that this violates their policies, and that they have best-of-breed technical measures to prevent this from happening, but when Wired asked how this data-broker was able to sell these audiences – including people in menopause, or with "chronic pain, fibromyalgia, psoriasis, arthritis, high cholesterol, and hypertension" – Google did not reply.

The data broker in the report also sold access to people based on which medications they took (including Ambien), people who abuse opioids or are recovering from opioid addiction, people with endocrine disorders, and "contractors with access to restricted US defense-related technologies."

It's easy to see how these categories could enable blackmail, spear-phishing, scams, malvertising, and many other crimes that threaten individuals, groups, and the nation as a whole. The US Office of Naval Intelligence has already published details of how "anonymous" people targeted by ads can be identified:

https://www.odni.gov/files/ODNI/documents/assessments/ODNI-Declassified-Report-on-CAI-January2022.pdf

The most amazing part is how the 33,000 targeting segments came to public light: an activist just pretended to be an ad buyer, and the data-broker sent him the whole package, no questions asked. Johnny Ryan is a brilliant Irish privacy activist with the Irish Council for Civil Liberties. He created a fake data analytics website for a company that wasn't registered anywhere, then sent out a sales query to a brokerage (the brokerage isn't identified in the piece, to prevent bad actors from using it to attack targeted categories of people).

Foreign states, including China – a favorite boogeyman of the US national security establishment – can buy Google's data and target users based on Google ad-tech stack. In the past, Chinese spies have used malvertising – serving targeted ads loaded with malware – to attack their adversaries. Chinese firms spend billions every year to target ads to Americans:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/06/business/google-meta-temu-shein.html

Google and Meta have no meaningful checks to prevent anyone from establishing a shell company that buys and targets ads with their services, and the data-brokers that feed into those services are even less well-protected against fraud and other malicious act.

All of this is only possible because Congress has failed to act on privacy since 1988. That's the year that Congress passed the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you have at home. That's also the last time Congress passed a federal consumer privacy law:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

The legislative history of the VPPA is telling: it was passed after a newspaper published the leaked video-rental history of a far-right judge named Robert Bork, whom Reagan hoped to elevate to the Supreme Court. Bork failed his Senate confirmation hearings, but not because of his video rentals (he actually had pretty good taste in movies). Rather, it was because he was a Nixonite criminal and virulent loudmouth racist whose record was strewn with the most disgusting nonsense imaginable).

But the leak of Bork's video-rental history gave Congress the cold grue. His video rental history wasn't embarrassing, but it sure seemed like Congress had some stuff in its video-rental records that they didn't want voters finding out about. They beat all land-speed records in making it a crime to tell anyone what kind of movies they (and we) were watching.

And that was it. For 37 years, Congress has completely failed to pass another consumer privacy law. Which is how we got here – to this moment where you can target ads to suicidal teens, gambling addicted soldiers in Minuteman silos, grannies with Alzheimer's, and every Congressional staffer on the Hill.

Some people think the problem with mass surveillance is a kind of machine-driven, automated mind-control ray. They believe the self-aggrandizing claims of tech bros to have finally perfected the elusive mind-control ray, using big data and machine learning.

But you don't need to accept these outlandish claims – which come from Big Tech's sales literature, wherein they boast to potential advertisers that surveillance ads are devastatingly effective – to understand how and why this is harmful. If you're struggling with opioid addiction and I target an ad to you for a fake cure or rehab center, I haven't brainwashed you – I've just tricked you. We don't have to believe in mind-control to believe that targeted lies can cause unlimited harms.

And those harms are indeed grave. Stein's Law predicts that "anything that can't go on forever eventually stops." Congress's failure on privacy has put us all at risk – including Congress. It's only a matter of time until the commercial surveillance industry is responsible for a massive leak, targeted phishing campaign, or a ghastly national security incident involving Congress. Perhaps then we will get action.

In the meantime, the coalition of people whose problems can be blamed on the failure to update privacy law continues to grow. That coalition includes protesters whose identities were served up to cops, teenagers who were tracked to out-of-state abortion clinics, people of color who were discriminated against in hiring and lending, and anyone who's been harassed with deepfake porn:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/20/privacy-first-second-third/#malvertising

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[divinegrey]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿 / 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

took a slight left on the prompt i was given, but it just felt more fitting given what i know of ambessa. hope you enjoy!

prompt: Hi! How about an Ambessa x Reader where the reader is her only weakness besides her family? And, maybe, reader gets hurt in the last battle and Ambessa realizes that sometimes, winning a war is not worth all the losses it causes along the way.

words: 1337

warnings: canon typical violence

“Every war comes with a price to pay.” 

The words echo in your head as you swing your glaive in a wide arc, slicing through the bodies of the blue-suited Enforcers trying to bull-rush you onto the ground. It comes naturally you, the motion and flow of handling your polearm; six feet of handle and two feet of blade, creating a damning vortex of death around you as you cut through the defenses set up by Piltover. The stench of blood lays thick in your nostrils, metallic and complimentary to the lingering scent of magic littering across the stone battlefield. Behind you, more reinforcements rush into the gray, drawing attention off of you.

You glance up in time to notice the Hextech cannon aimed in your direction; there’s little time to think before you dive to the side, curling yourself behind a fallen stone statue as the payload strikes the spot where you once stood, arcane blue scattering out in an explosion that wipes out half of the infantry under your command. 

Despite the ache in your bones and the several gashes bleeding through your armor, you haul yourself over the statue, sprinting across the battlefield. 

Ambessa’s plan is sound— they always are, such is the nature of the Warlord. The death of Rictus, her second-in-command, sent echoes through the ranks. Through you, especially. He, more than anyone, was your brother in arms, a man you could trust to guard your back as much as you guarded his. But even with his esteemed spot by her side, he was never a recipient of special treatment. He never received Ambessa’s love and adoration like you did. 

You slide across the stone, your heel making contact with the shin of an Enforcer. The snap of bone is felt ricocheting through your boot as you come up onto your feet, driving your steel through their chest. Blood spills onto the ground and you exhale, turning face to your General. 

“Thirty percent of my men are dead. The Hextech cannon is proving to be a nuisance,” you remark, a gesture toward the sky where the cannon unloads another shot toward the infantry, bodies going flying. You hardly flinch, more of a grimace passing your face. 

“The cost we pay. Ignore the cannon, press the advantage,” Ambessa instructs. Her eyes flicker past your shoulder, visible beneath the golden mask, and you follow her wordless command, shifting your body to the side the same moment she steps forward, arm raised and magic flaring from the runes wrapped tight. A bullet bounces off the momentary shield. You spin on your heel, hurling your glaive at the would-be killer. 

They fall to the ground, red soaking blue. 

Ambessa kicks up a glaive from the ground, borrowed from another Noxian soldier fallen, and presses it into your hand. “We shall win the day. You most of all. Leave the infantry to deal with the Enforcers. You, with me. We must break through to the door!” 

“Yes, General!” You step into pace with her, charging through the fray at her side. She defends your left, you defend her right. Hours upon hours spent training against her as lent a strength fighting with her, knowing intimately how she moves just as well as she knows how you move. There’s a tenacity, an unbreakable wall forged in the bond between the two of you. 

But every wall will suffer a siege. Every wall will suffer a break. 

You see it before she does. You move before her, your hand finding purchase in her armor and swapping places. The shout that rips through your throat is not one of victory, of force or strength, but of pain, a payload from the Hextech cannon slamming into your back. Your position and the refractions of her runes protect Ambessa; the same cannot be said for you. 

You find yourself hurtling through the air, landing against the stone, metal screeching as you slide to a stop, blood smeared in your vision. You can hardly get a lungful of air down without sputtering out due to the searing agony working up your spine from the impact. The feeling in your legs is fuzzy, barely there, and you struggle to push yourself up. 

Ambessa arrives, the golden halo of Runeterra’s sun behind her head. 

“You fool, why did you—” 

“Can’t ignore the cannon, General,” you hiss out, laying your hand on her arm. Red spreads on her skin, melting into the fabric. “Not when it puts you in danger.” 

She reaches to your face, her palm gripped on your helmet and pulling it off. It’s thrown aside, her own mask removed too— for the first time in what feels like a long, long time, you see it in her eyes. Fear. 

As quick as it came, it’s gone. Ambessa stands, sliding her arms under yours to drag you behind a barricade of Noxian soldiers, shields pressing tight to protect her. 

“That is not the order I gave you,” Ambessa grits out. Her head snaps up, the urgency in her voice enough to instill the smallest worry in you. “Medic, now!” 

“I will be fine, you need to keep fighting, General, please, victory hasn’t been secured—” 

“Victory means nothing if you are not there to see it with me,” says Ambessa, a whispered tone to protect her the vulnerability in her words reserved only for you. 

You’ve known the truth for a long while— there is one weakness you bear, and that is the soft spot in your heart that cradles Ambessa Medarda with all the love you have. The same can be said for her, a tightness in her expression as a medic drops to their knees beside you, pulling the straps of your armor in order to properly assess the damage. You raise your good arm to hold her face, wiping away the tears that could very well easily pass for sweat instead. The very motion seems to stoke an anger in her, not to you, but to those who did this to you. 

“My lion,” you whisper, a forced smile on your face. “I will not fall. And neither will you. Win. For Noxus. For us.” 

Like tempered steel quenched in oil, Ambessa’s face hardens. She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours, breathing in your air as easily as you breath in hers. Never before has she so willingly displayed this much affection with you in front of her soldiers, but if any of them have anything to say about it, they’re wise enough to keep their mouths shut. You and Ambessa apart are terrifying forces of power, but together, you’re nigh unconquerable. 

“Steel your heart, my shield,” Ambessa murmurs, and you nod the slightest amount, enough for her to know you heard her. “We will see Noxus anew.” 

It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to an I love you. 

Ambessa kisses you, her hand cradled on the back of your head. The din of war seems to cease around you, your senses and what left you have of your fading consciousness focused on Ambessa Medarda, of the woman you swore your life, your fealty, your love to. When she pulls away, you see the struggle in her eyes, her desire to ensure your safety conflicting with the pressing need to ensure victory. 

You make the choice for her, her mask in your hand outstretched to her. 

“The price we pay,” you say, watching as she takes it, a barely there moment of hesitation before she puts it back on her face. She takes her sword in hand and rises, her shadow casting over you. 

“If they do not survive,” Ambessa speaks to the medic, who pauses to listen to her orders. “You will not even get a grave.”

The medic does not deign to respond with words, rather a nod and a renewed urgency. Ambessa looks at you once more; you thump your fist weakly on your chest. 

She runs headlong back into battle, shouting a war cry for the ages. 

~~~~~ A/N: ambessa.... mommy... WHO SAID THAT

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XXIV. Grief

Proditio sola veritas haeret.

Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.

Flames engulfed the ships of the Roman navy, illuminating the vast dark Mediterranean Sea with a haunting glow. In a desperate bid for survival, soldiers leaped into the churning waters, their forms silhouetted against the firelight. The night air was filled with their frantic shouts and the splashes of bodies breaking the surface, the echoes of their struggles piercing through the stillness of the night, a chilling symphony of chaos in the open sea.

In the dead of night, enemy ships loomed in the shadows, shrouded by an eerie stillness. Suddenly, a carefully orchestrated and merciless ambush struck without warning. Marcus lay in his cabin, the soft glow of an oil lamp flickering gently nearby, where his loyal companion Octavius rested. The tranquil atmosphere shattered like glass when a bone-rattling roar sliced through the silence, a sound that reverberated like a thunderclap. In an instant, the ship they inhabited trembled violently as a massive ballista projectile—launched from a hidden catapult on a distant vessel—crashed into their hull, sending splinters flying and chaos erupting around them.

The ship convulsed violently as if it had been struck by a great earthquake, the timbers groaning in protest while flames licked hungrily at the hull.

Wooden fragments melted away as though caught in a relentless blizzard, cascading into the cool embrace of the sea, leaving the vessel to seemingly dissolve like parchment in a fire.

As the another catapult's deadly payload smashed into the ship, soldiers caught in the chaos became mere memories, their lives snuffed out in an instant by splintering timber and raging flames. Those molded by fear and urgency on the lower deck scrambled desperately, eyes wide with panic as they sought their generals, and they did, yet the single path to salvation became painfully clear: they must abandon ship, and they must do so swiftly.

As Marcus and his fellow soldiers gazed at the burning, wrecked ships surrounding them, a sense of urgency gripped them. The horizon beckoned with the promise of land, not too far from their current position—potentially enemy territory, but there was no time to choose. They exchanged quick, determined glances before plunging one by one into the cool embrace of the water, the weight of their fate pressing down upon them.

Nearby, soldiers clinging to the splintered remnants of a wrecked vessel noticed their departure. Just as they began to swim towards Marcus and his group, a fiery projectile from a catapult soared overhead, crashing into the water with a thunderous force that sent a towering wave crashing down around them.

Marcus felt his heart race as the water erupted into chaos, momentarily swallowing him whole. For a second, he thought he was lost in despair. The chaos of the waves was overwhelming. But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the storm of waves calmed down, giving them a moment to catch their breath.

Caught off guard during their brief respite, most of the soldiers had donned their heavy armor, a cumbersome burden that hampered their attempts to swim. Only Marcus and Octavius had taken the leap without the weight of steel, since they were wearing only their tunics, while their brothers struggled against the encroaching tide. The fight for survival had only just begun, and the shore felt tantalizingly away, even as danger loomed in the depths.

Gasping for breath, they collapsed onto the wet earth, the sandy ground pressing against their weary bodies. As the relentless waves crashed around them, Marcus, anchored by determination and aided by his steadfast second-in-command, fought valiantly against the tide. With every ounce of strength coursing through his muscles, he reached out to his struggling soldiers, encumbered by their heavy armor, which threatened to drag them beneath the churning surface. One by one, he pulled them from the clutches of the water, his hands straining, heart racing, until they lay safe upon the shore, their lives preserved by sheer willpower and camaraderie.

Marcus was horrified as he gazed at the nightmare unfolding in the sea. The navy of his army, built through months of hard work, was burning before his eyes. His soldiers—his brothers—whom he had trained so diligently and intensely, sacrificing sleep and spending less time with his family, were drowning. His hands balled into fists as the darkness of the night, the deep blue of the water, and the bright red of the flames reflected in his brown eyes.

His chest constricted with a heavyweight as memories of the inspiring speech he had delivered just days before flooded back to him, filled with unwavering confidence and fierce determination. Pride had surged through him as he looked upon his men, their faces radiant with determination, ready to conquer the enemy's city. Yet now, one by one, many of them were slipping beneath the dark, churning waves of the sea, their once-vibrant spirits extinguishing like flickering candles. In the distance, other ships of the fleet retreated like shadows fading into the horizon, their sails drooping in surrender. He felt no anger toward them; he understood their plight. He had commanded this course of action, knowing it was the only honorable choice for a leader.

His feet carried him toward the sea, and as he stepped knee-deep, Octavius approached from behind and touched his shoulder. "Acacius," he murmured.

"Whoever did this, Octavius," he said through clenched teeth. "I will take his life with my own hands."

“Do you believe we’ve been betrayed?” Octavius' voice was heavy with suspicion as he spoke. “You might be right; the timing is strikingly suspicious. Only we possessed the knowledge of our fleet’s carefully charted route—just the two centurions and the legates, privy to this crucial secret. Do you think one of them could be the mastermind behind this treacherous act?”

“Why would they do something like that, sir?” one of the soldiers asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Marcus paused, asking the same question to himself. He may not have had the words for the soldier, but one name stood out with unwavering certainty in his mind.

As dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, gilding the waves in soft hues of gold and orange, Marcus slowly opened his weary eyes. He found himself nestled in a concealed nook along the shore, accompanied by his two loyal soldiers and Octavius. One by one, they shook off the remnants of sleep, drawn out of their restless slumber by the haunting memories of the night before.

The cacophony of battle that had echoed through the darkness had faded, leaving behind an eerie, sorrowful stillness that blanketed the coastline. As they gazed out across the expanse of the sea, their hearts sank at the desolation before them. Gone were the proud ships that had once soared through the waves; instead, splintered pieces of wood and tattered remnants of sails littered the water’s surface, mingling with the ghastly sight of fallen soldiers drifting aimlessly—a mournful procession of loss and despair. Their presence was a haunting reminder of a lost struggle; the echoes of betrayal and malicious actions turned what could have been a victory into a tragedy.

The scene was etched into their minds, a harrowing reminder of the brutality of war that they would carry with them for all eternity.

“Let’s find higher ground,” Marcus urged, his voice heavy with resolve. “We need to see if there are any survivors.”

They couldn’t see in the dark last night, but maybe they could now. Even if it was only one soldier, Marcus was determined to find one; he had to at least try. They climbed to a high place near the shore and squinted in the hot sun. But there was no sign of life, just birds of prey that could smell the corpses. The soldiers picked up whatever stones they could find and threw them angrily at the birds, wanting to drive away the cruel creatures that were trying to feast on the remains of their brothers.

Then they heard a moan and walked towards it. A soldier lay on the shore, badly wounded. When they realized who it was, they rushed to his side. He was in bad shape; in fact, all of them had suffered injuries from the fire and the debris that had grazed their bodies. But this soldier needed urgent treatment.

As the two soldiers carefully tended the other one's injuries, Marcus gazed toward the horizon, watching the foamy waves crash against the rocky shore. He scrutinized the rugged coastline, mentally mapping their exact position on the vast expanse of both sea and land.

"What do we do now, sir?" Octavius asked, his brow furrowed with concern as the salty breeze tugged at his tunic.

“We are in enemy territory along the coastline, and we must avoid coming too close to the shore, as their ships could easily spot us. The army camp should be nearby, and I'm certain they will send an inspection team. We cannot dally; we need to keep moving.”

Suddenly, they heard the neighing of horses approaching and instinctively took an alert position. Then, several arrows were fired at them, striking two of the soldiers.

“Sir!” one of the soldiers shielded his general, as Marcus and Octavius were without armor or swords. Octavius rushed to the other wounded soldier but found that both were dead. He quickly grabbed their swords and called out to Marcus as he threw one toward him.

“Acacius!”

Marcus deftly caught the sword and cut through one of the dismounted attackers as he ran toward Octavius. More adversaries, armed with swords, charged at them. One of them shouted, “Leave no survivors!”

There were eight fully equipped opponents. However, they stood little chance against Marcus and Octavius, who were unarmored. The two soon managed to defeat their adversaries. Octavius had just pressed his sword to the throat of the man he believed to be their leader when Marcus intervened.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” Marcus demanded.

Octavius stomped his foot on the man's arm, pressing down on his wound. The man groaned in pain. “The general asked you a question! Speak!” Octavius growled.

“Romans,” the man spat defiantly. “It doesn't matter if you kill me; you've already lost. Soon, you will lose your lavish city too.”

Octavius bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and shook him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Speak!"

When the man resisted, he punched him repeatedly in the face. Marcus preferred to watch coldly.

The man spoke, his lips trembling as blood trickled down the side of his mouth. "I'm saying that our navy, which you underestimate, is preparing to lay siege to your city."

Marcus and Octavius exchanged glances. The man grinned and said, "But I don't think you will live long enough to see it. You won't stand a chance in our lands."

"I think you are mistaken," Marcus said. "You're the one who won't see it. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but one day, I, Marcus Justus Acacius, shall exact my retribution, destroy all of your fleets, conquer your city, and annex all of your lands into the greatness of Rome; Carthage will be wiped out of history."

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief, but not due to the threat or the confidence in his voice. Instead, the mention of his name made him realize who he was.

"You... how is it possible that you are still alive?" he exclaimed, reaching for the belt around his waist and swiftly drawing out a knife, intending to plunge it into him.However, Marcus was more agile. He grasped the man's wrist, which was holding the knife, and thrust it into the man's throat with it. The man breathed his last, choking on his own blood.

“Why was he so surprised? I don’t like this, sir,” Octavius said.

Marcus brow furrowed as his gaze pierced the distant trees and hills.

“There are undoubtedly more soldiers lurking in the area. We can’t stay here any longer; we must escape now,” he insisted, urgency driving his words.

“What’s the plan? How do we get back to Rome? It’s impossible without a ship."

“Who said we’re going back without a ship?” Marcus retorted. “Didn’t you hear him? Their fleet is gathering to prepare for a siege on the city. If we can just reach the harbor, there might be a glimmer of hope for us. But first, We need a disguise.” He turned sharply to the soldier beside him.

“Remove your armor and put on the clothes of one of those men,” Marcus ordered. “We must shed every piece of evidence that marks us as Romans, or we’ll never make it out alive.”

As Marcus donned the cloak of one of the dead soldiers, his thoughts were consumed by you. He couldn’t help but worry about what would happen to you and your children if the city fell to the enemy fleet before he could reach you. The troubling possibilities weighed heavily on him; he needed to get to Rome as soon as possible, but he knew the journey would be dangerous and difficult.

As the days dragged on without him, a heavy silence enveloped your heart. Initially, there was a flicker of hope that he would return, but an overwhelming sorrow settled in as the latest news trickled in. Shadows of doubt loomed large in your mind, whispering fears of what if he was truly gone. Yet, in the deepest recesses of your soul, a powerful conviction remained: he was alive, and you could feel it with every fiber of your being.

The agony of not being able to reach him, to offer solace, or to venture forth in search of him was an unbearable weight. Each day passed like an eternity. The sun would stream through your window, casting warm rays that illuminated your bed, yet the light felt cold and distant. Every breath you took without him was a reminder of the hollow space he once filled, each inhalation a sharp pang of longing.

You ached to flee from the Villa, to escape the desolation that surrounded you. Without him, it transformed into a forsaken dungeon, trapped in time—abandoned, ruined, and echoing with memories that only deepened your sorrow.

Every morning, you found yourself making the familiar journey to the bustling harbor of Ostia, the salty breeze carrying whispers of hope as you scanned the horizon for the familiar silhouette of a ship bearing the Legion III flag. Cato and Decima were sharing this ritual with you, but as the days drifted by without a sign of your men, Decima's optimism began to wane. Yet, you clung to hope like a lifeline, for returning to the villa felt like walking into a void, a space only filled by soothing presence of your children, who kept you anchored amidst the uncertainty.

Nights loomed like heavy shadows, each minute stretching into eternity as you sat in your dimly lit room after tucking the children into bed. The silence pressed in on you, amplifying the absence of Marcus. In the stillness, his silhouette seemed to haunt the corners of your mind, merging with fading memories that flickered like candle light. You often found yourself sitting on the cold, hard floor, wrapped in the ache of longing as you imagined where he might be sleeping—if he was sleeping at all. The gnawing worry clawed at your insides; was he injured? Did he need you?  The warmth of your bed, which had once promised solace, felt foreign and unwelcoming now. It once a sanctuary, had turned into a cruel reminder of his absence. You chose to forgo its embrace, opting instead for the rough comfort of the lectus, resolute in your determination to wait for his return, refusing to surrender to sleep until he was back in your arms.

That morning, as you were getting ready in your room to head to Ostia, there was a knock at the door. Decima entered with your permission, her face pale and drawn, betraying a deep discomfort.

“What troubles you, dear?”

“My stomach,” she murmured, her hand instinctively resting on her slightly rounded belly. It was true; she was carrying a child, and it was common for her to experience such ailments in this time.

You guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t come with me today. Stay here with the children and rest.”

Desperation flickered in her eyes as she grasped your hand tightly. “Aurelia, can’t you consider not going either? We’ve made that journey to Ostia six days in a row, only to return disheartened, adding to our suffering. I’m so tired; I can’t bear it anymore…” Her voice cracked as tears spilled down her cheeks. You nestled beside her, wrapping your arms around her.

“I understand your pain, but if we give up hope, what do we have left? They are alive; we must summon our strength for them and for our little ones,” you assured her, your voice steady.

“This is the only flicker of hope I have left,” she said, her hand on her belly.  “But we have to brace ourselves for the other possibility, you know.”

You rose from the bed, “No, there is no other option.”

“Aurelia—”

“Decima, please. He is alive; I can feel it,” you declared, picking up Marcius and inhaling the sweet scent of his curly hair. “I’m not in denial about this; I can’t explain it, but I just know it.”

She let out a heavy sigh, a sound filled with fatigue and resignation. You leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the tiny head of your daughter, peacefully sleeping on the bed, her dreams untouched by the cruel world outside. Then, with resolve, you draped your palla over your head, securing it around your arm.

“You rest here. I’ll return before nightfall,” you promised.

“Please take care of yourself,” she whispered, a tremor of worry in her voice.

You offered her a weak smile, a flicker of reassurance. “You too.”

As you went down the stairs, Tullia was waiting at the bottom, her eyes all watering. She begged you not to go, her voice wobbly with desperation, but you ignored her, just like you did every day. It was a familiar routine, and it was getting you nowhere. Everyone around you looked sad, and the air felt heavy and thick with sadness. This only made you angry.

“What is this sorrowful expression of yours?” you asked, your voice sharp. “Is someone dead? General, your master is still alive; he is not gone! How quickly have you all accepted defeat? How swiftly have you convinced yourselves of his demise? No, as your Domina, I refuse to allow this despair. There will be no more crying and no more sulking. I forbid it, do you understand?”

They nodded slowly, their heads bowed in compliance. You walked out of the courtyard and into the open air, where the world felt colder and more unforgiving. There, you spotted Cato by the carriage, which stood ready and waiting like a silent sentinel. This daily ritual had become all too familiar. Every morning, he arrived to escort you, and each time, you would ask if there was any news. When he responded with a slow shake of his head, a fresh wave of pain crashed over you, as if the wound had been reopened without mercy.

You found yourself teetering on the edge of endurance, desperately clinging to the fragile thread of hope. All you needed was the slightest indication that he was still alive—a whisper, a flicker of life. That’s why you journeyed to the harbor each day without fail; it was a pilgrimage fueled by the relentless ache in your heart. But as time went on, it felt like the whole universe was working against you. Every moment felt like an eternity, as if the world was determined to break your spirit.

As you stood at the harbor, the familiar salt-laden breeze swept around you, mingling with the weight of your unspoken grief. Each day, this spot had become both a sanctuary and a prison. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, giving way to silent tears that traced paths down your cheeks. From a distance, Cato watched, his heart heavy. Every day, he stood witness to your struggle, feeling the pull of your pain deep within himself. A soldier by trade, he had learned to temper his hopes with grim realism, but his heart ached with the longing to believe that everything would be alright. His thoughts were consumed by the mission entrusted to him by his general—to protect his own family, no matter the cost.

You were oblivious to the arrival of the carriage coming up close to you, its wheels crunching over gravel while the waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. The world around you had lost its vibrancy in his absence; it felt as if a curse hung in the air, draining the life from all that surrounded you.

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps broke through your reverie, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. You turned to find Geta standing beside you, his expression serious as he draped a white, fancy shawl over your shoulders. The gentle weight of the shawl felt comforting amid your turmoil.

He had a point; the wind was biting, but nothing compared to the fiery pain you felt deep down.

“Why did you come here?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

“I should ask you the same thing. Standing on the edge of the harbor day after day—don’t you think it’s a bit reckless?”

“It’s hard to stay at home,” you replied, adjusting his shawl around your shoulders and clutching the fabric tighter as if seeking solace in its warmth.

“Then you should have told me. I would have come with you,” he said.

“Should I really have invite the great emperor to stand here idly with his sister for no reason? You have an empire to rule, and your family needs you,” you murmured.“Family? Hah!” He let out a bitter laugh that echoed against the waves. “You are my family. Marcius and my little niece—are my family.”

“Brother,” you whispered. “You have a wife and a child. You can’t just ignore them. Publius is your son; he needs his father.”

“I don’t ignore him,” he replied firmly, although the weight of his words seemed to hang in the air. “I love him just as much as I love Marcius.”

“And Nerissa? The rumors I hear about you two aren’t good. Are you paying enough attention to your wife?”

“I’m going to divorce her,” he said, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion.

“What did you just say?” you asked, stunned.

“Not right away, but I can’t stay married to her,” he continued, his expression hardening. “She’s become someone I no longer recognize. I can’t stand her being around me.”

“Tell me what happened,” you insisted.

He shook his head and looked into your eyes. There was sadness in his gaze, revealing the many things he wanted to say but couldn’t. His expression made you uneasy, because you recognized that look—the kind a man gives a woman when he feels deeply. It was the kind of look that compelled you to look away immediately.

“Aurelia, I—”

Suddenly, a horn echoed through the air, jolting you from your thoughts. The sound was unmistakable, sending a thrill down your spine. Instinctively, you turned your gaze toward the vast expanse of the sea.

In the distance, silhouettes of battle-weary ships emerged on the horizon, their sails billowing gracefully as they glided closer to the shore. The rhythmic crash of waves against their hulls accompanied their steady approach, creating a spellbinding sense of anticipation.

A surge of joy coursed through your veins, igniting a spark of hope that blossomed within you at the thought of his return.

“Finally,” Geta said, smiling at you, and you smiled back, perhaps for the first time in days. Within an hour, the partially damaged ships approached the shore and anchored. As each soldier stepped ashore, you felt growing excitement. However, your joy soon faded when you realized that the number of soldiers disembarking very less. The soldiers waiting on the other ships were not many either. It was devastating to witness the fleet's severe damage and significant losses firsthand.

A little later, the centurion Varus must have received the news, as he was one of those who arrived at the harbor. He was surprised to recognize you, but he stepped toward you with determination.

“Where is your general?” Geta asked the soldiers. The soldiers appeared tired, wounded, and deeply saddened. They were too grief-stricken to look at either his face or yours.

“It’s just us and the others on the ship, Your Majesty. We are outnumbered by no more than three thousand soldiers, many of whom died in the attack. We believe that the general and Sir Octavius were among them.”

"How could you come back without your general?" You shouted.

"It was a direct order from him, my lady. Either we stay there and perish, or we retreat. We've been through hell." The soldier’s words echoed in your mind, heavy as stone.

"You did the right thing, soldier," Varus said, his tone firm. Yet, you could sense a hint of relief in his voice.

Suddenly, your knees buckled, and you sank to the gravelly ground, feeling the sharp stones bite into your skin.

"Aurelia!" Geta exclaimed anxiously, dropping beside you.

"My lady!"

Geta fiercely pushed Varus' hand away as it reached out, wanting to touch you.

Cato rushed to your side, leaning in with an urgency.

"My lady, let me take you back home," he implored, but the words felt distant, floating away like the lost hopes within you.

You lacked the strength to respond; tears streamed down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the profound hurt that gripped your heart. Crushed under the weight of despair, the last remnants of hope were carried away on the calm winds howling across the shore.

Geta put his arm around you, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the storm raging within you. He brushed his fingers gently against your tear-streaked face, offering solace as he helped you rise.

"You should return to the villa now, Aurelia. Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

Varus cleared his throat, a sound filled with urgency. "Your Majesty, there’s something we must discuss. You pledged to await the fleet’s return, and now that it has arrived, I trust you will take the necessary steps to select a new general."

You narrowed your eyes at him, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

"Not now, Varus," Geta interjected sharply, gesturing for him to leave, his protectiveness radiating like a shield around you.

“I understand your pain, and I am truly sorry for your loss,”  he said, not sounding very sincere. Only made you angrier. “But my thoughts are with the state of our army and the safety of our city—”

“It’s not just you; I’m thinking about it too, so you don’t need to worry. Right now, I must be there for my sister during her moment of grief, and frankly, you’re the last person I want to see.” The sharpness of his words hung in the air, leaving Varus visibly unsettled. He lowered his gaze in anger, then turned and walked away in silence.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia, but Acacius...” Geta paused, drawing in a shaky breath as if unsure how to say it properly. “As difficult as it’s been—and I genuinely know it is—I believe it’s time for me to accept the truth.”

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracking like brittle glass. “Don’t say anything more; it’s only adding to my pain."

"I know, forgive me."

"I want to go home.” You said faintly.

“Alright, then, let me accompany you. I can't leave you alone like this,” he said.

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks, unstoppable and raw.

During several distressing days spent as refugees in the bustling streets of Carthage—the very city they had intended to conquer—Marcus, Octavius and the other soldiers were forging a plan for their perilous return to Rome. Their initial strategy was to infiltrate the merchant ships sailing toward the island of Sicily. However, there was a significant problem: the harbor, alive with the sounds of creaking planks and crashing waves, was dominated by ominous warships—hundreds of them. Clearly, merchant ships could not sail for the time being. In truth, the man they had slain had spoken with grim accuracy—Carthage was preparing to unleash its might upon Rome.

With a pressing time limit, the group knew they had to procure a small dinghy or boat under the cover of darkness to reach Drepanum. Stripped of coins and valuables, they relied on their training as soldiers and the fierce camaraderie that bound them together. That day, they pressed on to the coastal city of Clypea, seeking the promise of a less fortified harbor where the air was thick with salt and desperation.

As dusk enveloped the city like a shroud, they found refuge in a dimly lit tavern, hoping for a place to rest. The scent of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spilled wine as they overheard snippets of anxious conversations from nearby tables. The locals, their faces drawn with worry, whispered tales of the imminent siege preparations by their army. Fear rippled through the air like a storm, as they suspected that Elagabalus might betray their trust. Yet, a flicker of hope remained—many believed that the sinking of Roman ships and the loss of soldiers were signs of weakness. Most importantly, the loss of their great General Acacius could become a significant advantage in their struggle against Rome.

Octavius and the other soldiers clenched their fists upon hearing their conversation, while Marcus was the only one who smiled when his name was mentioned. As they listened, it was hard for them to remain quiet, but they needed to keep a low profile. He knew that if Elagabalus reached Rome with the Carthaginian fleet before they did, Marcus would have little chance to save his city. He had to get home—for his wife, for his family, for his emperor, and for Rome.

At dawn's quietude, they set out on their bold quest to steal a lone boat with a single sail from the peaceful harbor. Though its leisurely pace paled in comparison to that of a sturdy ship, it provided the subtlety they desperately needed. The boat glided across the shimmering waters, and nearly a day later, they finally stepped onto the sun-kissed shores of Sicily.

From that point on, their journey became treacherous. Traveling on foot across the rugged terrain, without the speed of a horse, would stretch their journey into days, perhaps even weeks. They maneuvered through the territory of Syracuse, a Roman ally.

Desperation clawed at them as they decided to find horses. In a hurry and lacking peaceful options, they resorted to force. They ambushed the owner of the horses. Marcus, torn between courage and guilt, promised the man that he would one day repay the debt. However, the man, trapped in despair and fear, yelled and protested loudly, his cries echoing in the still morning air. Ultimately, they had no choice but to silence him, tying him up as they fled into the uncertain horizon.

After journeying with the horses up to the Strait of Messina—just as the Roman navy arrived at the port of Ostia—they had to find a way to cross to the other side of the land. Unable to take the horses with them, they had to leave them behind, which meant a few more days would be required to reach Rome. Capua was a significant stop along the way to their destination. Octavius’ family resided there, would allow them to gather all necessary supplies like food, suitable clothing, and horses.

Upon arriving in Capua, they stepped into a tavern to rest, feeling quite fatigued from their travels. "My family's home isn't far from here. We can get what we need," Octavius said as the tavern owner served them their drinks. "What should we do after then, sir?"

Marcus sipped his wine. "We still have a considerable distance to get to Rome. Additionally, we need to find the nearest army headquarters."

“There’s the Iulia Alpina legion just outside the city,” another soldier said.

“Indeed. We must head to their camp. Commander Quintus knows me; he will be able to assist us,” Marcus said, his resolve strengthening. “From there, we can send word to Geta.”

They nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the tavern swung open, and a raucous group of men stormed in, their animated chatter filling the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls as one man leaned in closer to his companions.

“Did you hear the news? They’ve chosen Verus as general to replace General Acacius,” he murmured, a hint of disbelief lingering in his tone.

The second man shook his head, a pained expression crossing his face. “He was a good commander, a man of honor. It’s a tragedy. May the gods welcome him into Elysium’s embrace,” he intoned solemnly, raising a cup in a silent toast.

A skeptical chuckle escaped the first man’s lips. “Verus can’t even hold a candle to him. No one can match his prowess on the battlefield,” he retorted, the edge of resentment sharp in his voice.

Seated in a shadowy corner, Octavius felt a surge of indignation welling within him. He shifted in his chair, ready to spring to his feet when Marcus, placed a hand on his arm, restraining him.

“Sir, what are they saying? How can this be?”

“Calm down, Octavius,” Marcus urged, glancing around cautiously. “They must believe we’re dead.”

“But you’re not dead! We’re not dead! We can’t let this nonsense continue!” Octavius protested, fury igniting his voice. “How could Geta possibly choose Varus?”

Marcus sighed, “It must be the council’s decision. They need a leader; the army can’t function without one,” he explained, his voice subdued yet firm.

“Still, it reeks of injustice,” the soldier said, his disappointment evident as he shook his head. “You are still a general, and this is gravely unfair.”

“Now, Varus has the influence and power to manipulate things in his favor. Geta is in jeopardy now more than ever. We must return to Rome—time is of the essence,” Marcus declared, determined.

Breathing... Could it really hurt just to breathe? But it did hurt you. It felt as if there were countless wounds in your lungs that grew larger with each breath. The pain you experienced was indescribable. You cried so much that you woke up in the morning with the dried remnants of last night's tears on your cheeks. Crying was all you could do; you tried to appear happy to avoid frightening Marcius. Every time he babbles "da-da," a word he used for his father, he did so without grasping the reality of his father's absence. As you watch him, you were feeling the weight of your emotions, struggling to hold back tears while biting your lips so hard that they almost bled.

Everyone around you—Cato, Felix, Decima, Norell, Geta, Lucius, who visited occasionally, your aunt Antonia, even Tullia—was telling you to stop waiting for him to return.

But you were refusing. Somewhere deep down, you knew that he was alive, you could still feel his heart beating. It was a strange sensation, but it was undeniable. How could you possibly ignore that feeling? He would return—maybe it would take months or even years, but he would come back. It might seem ridiculous, but you were certain he will return.

His words reverberated softly in your mind repeatedly. ‘You will live, my love. For our son, for our daughter, and for me.’ Yet, the weight of this promise felt almost unbearable. The ache in your chest was so profound that it seemed to steal the very breath from your lungs. Without his plea echoing in your heart, the agony would consume you entirely. It seemed so easy to surrender to death, but enduring the excruciating burden of this pain felt insurmountable, a dark shadow that loomed over every moment of your existence.

You may have shed many tears for Marcus, but all of Rome shared your grief. The citizens and city authorities of the Empire bestowed many honors upon General Acacius, and it was decided by Geta that appropriate ceremonies should be held to mourn his death. Temples, baths, and shops closed their doors as his loved ones wept inconsolably. In memory of his honorable and victorious life, a mausoleum was to be erected in the harbor of Ostia (this was customary for generals or centurions whose bodies could not be found). In two days, a ceremony was organized to commemorate the soldiers and their general who had died at sea. People, members of the Senate and their wives, and the relatives of the deceased soldiers all came to you to offer their condolences. You were grateful to everyone, but this only intensified your pain and made your loss feel more tangible.

Since you still didn’t believe you had truly lost him, the ceremony was almost unbearable, and you wanted to escape—it was all too much. What finally drove you away was the sight of Varus in his new outfit, who had just been declared General. He was dressed in leather armor featuring a gold-embroidered head of a Medusa on the front, with a red shawl cascading down from his shoulders. He looked just like Marcus, but he was not him. No matter how they referred to him, he wasn’t your general, and he never could be; no one ever could. Seeing someone like him wearing Marcus' familiar outfit left you feeling unsettled. Your heart raced uncontrollably, and the world around you blurred as nausea threatened to take hold. In your moment of distress, Cato and Decima rushed to your side, gently guiding you toward the carriage while you struggled to regain your composure.

Each step toward the waiting carriage was a struggle against the weight of your burden. Just as the world around you began to blur, your legs faltered beneath you, and darkness enveloped you like a thick fog, erasing all traces of light and consciousness.

Aurelia...

That whisper, that voice... As you opened your eyes, you found yourself on the desolate shore of a dark and stormy sea, waves crashing violently against the rocks. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rain, and Marcus' voice echoed all around you, haunting yet comforting, but he was nowhere to be seen. Panic surged within you as you searched the horizon.

Then, you spotted him—Marcus stood resolutely on the opposite shore, his charm as captivating as ever. Your heart raced at the sight of him, yet a deep chasm lay between you.

“Marcus, my love, I knew you weren't gone!” you cried out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I knew you hadn't left me!" You swiftly wiped them away with the back of your hand, yearning to take in the familiar contours of his face that you longed for. But despite your desperate steps forward, the fierce ocean current repelled you, the waves rising like formidable walls.

The storm swirled around you, the howling wind almost drowning out your plea. “I’ll return to you soon, my princess,” he promised, his voice a melodic whisper that cut through the tempest.

Joy ignited a smile on your lips even as tears continued to flow. But just as swiftly, the tempest intensified, and in a blink, Marcus vanished, along with the light of your happiness.

The distant chirping of birds broke the spell, pulling you back to reality, stark and unforgiving. It was a jarring contrast to the heartache that gripped you. You understood you were lost in a dream, yet you hesitated to open your eyes, clinging to the hope of seeing him again. But like sand slipping through your fingers, the dream faded away, and you returned to a reality heavy with sorrow.

When you opened your eyes, you realized Geta was sitting next to you, looking at you with concern.

“Aurelia? Are you awake?”

You turned your head and glanced around the room; you were in your chamber at the Domus Severiana, another place filled with memories of Marcus. How wonderful.

“Why am I here?” you asked, frowning.

“I was very concerned about your condition. I wanted Lucius to see you,” he replied. He picked up a tray of food from the table and brought it to you. “Please eat something; you need to take care of yourself. You've lost a lot of weight—just look at you.”

“I don't have any appetite, brother,” you confessed, turning your head away.

“Then, as your emperor, I order you to eat this now,” he said, a playful smile creeping across his lips, trying to lighten the somber atmosphere.

He was trying to elicit a smile from you, and you appreciated that. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldn't manage a smile.

“Thank you, brother, really, but I must go,” you murmured, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor meeting your feet.

He quickly stood, an impetuous glint in his eye, and gently guided your shoulders back down. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But Marcius and my daughter—”

“You must regain your strength first; otherwise, you’ll be no good to them. If you eat, I’ll let you go.”

“Geta, please... I can’t stay here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of your worries pressing down on you.

“Then eat. Do you want me to spoon-feed you? Look, I’ve never done this for anyone before, so appreciate it. You're lucky to have a brother like me,” he said, grinning.

“Well, if you won’t let me leave without eating…” you murmured.

“That's right,” he replied, settling down next to you on the bed, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Now, come on, open your mouth,” he urged. You hesitated but eventually opened your mouth just enough to accept the morsel and began chewing slowly.

With determination, he managed to get you to eat the food on the plate, and a smile of triumph appeared on his face.

“Enough, I'm going to be sick,” you said as he handed you more food.

“Well, at least I saw you eat something,” he replied with a chuckle. “I wish I could see you smile.” He sighed deeply. “You know, I really miss seeing that beautiful smile of yours.”

“Thank you for being there for me, brother. But I really have to go.”

“Come on, Aurelia, stay here one more night, and tomorrow I'll take you myself, I promise.”

“One more night? I stayed here last night?”

“Well, yes. I might have asked Lucius to give you something to help you relax,” he confessed sheepishly.

“You did what? I’ve been here for two days? How could you do that?” Your words spilled out, sharp and tinged with disbelief.

“I did it for you!” he barked back, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “Lucius said you fainted—probably from malnutrition and sadness. You’re going to make yourself sick, and I can’t allow that. So please, just stay here tonight and leave tomorrow. Should I have Marcius and my little niece brought over?”

“No, I’ll go,” you insisted.

Geta grasped your wrist gently but firmly. “Please, Aurelia,” he implored, his eyes filled with a quiet desperation.

It was ironic how Nerissa had used that same word in her plea for you to leave before.

“I know exactly what will make you smile,” Geta declared confidently. “Stay right here; I will return shortly.” With that, he left the room.

You sat back on the bed, and no matter how much you tried to push it away, the memories of Marcus in this room kept flooding your mind. It formed a lump in your throat that was hard to swallow. A little later, Geta returned, managing to make you smile as he promised. He came back carrying your nephew, Publius, in his arms. Instinctively, you smiled widely when you saw his beautiful face.

“See? I told you I’d make you smile. This little man is the only one who can manage that for his aunt,” Geta declared, his eyes twinkling with pride.

You reached out and took Publius in your arms. He was right; he was the only one who could make you smile today.

“Aurelia,” Geta said as you stroked your nephew’s golden hair. “I know it’s hard right now, but you will get through this. You are the strongest woman I know, and believe me, I have known many.”

“I don’t know if that’s a consolation or just an attempt to flatter yourself,” you replied, half-joking.

He shrugged his shoulders, a playful grin forming on his lips. “I can’t change my past, but you are the biggest reason I’ve become the person I am today. You’re incredibly strong, fiercely loyal, and possess a heart of gold. You would do anything for those you love. I consider myself lucky to have you among them.”

“Geta…” you murmured, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“I know, I know—sentimentality is a lot for someone who tends to be full of himself. I failed at being emotional, didn’t I? Just forget it, it’s all—”

Suddenly, you hugged him. He was taken aback; he usually does that kind of thing.

“Thank you, brother. Your support means a lot to me,” you said.

He wrapped his arms around you. “I’ll always be there for you. I won’t let anything happen to you or your children. In his absence, you’ll be under my protection.”

“Your Majesty—”

You stepped back as soon as you heard Nerissa's voice. Her expression was a mix of confusion and anger. “I was looking for Publius...” she mumbled.

“I brought him here,” Geta replied, avoiding her gaze.

“I thought Lady Aurelia had left.” She glanced at you.

“My sister will stay here one more night,” he said, picking up Publius in his arms.

A little later, Lucius appeared at the door. “Your Majesty, my empress, my lady.” He looked at you and them. “I'll come back later if this is the wrong time—”

“Come in, Lucius,” Geta said, gesturing to him. “We were just leaving.” He turned to you. “Rest well, Aurelia.”

You nodded in response.

Geta grasped Nerissa's arm, and you ignored her piercing looks as they left the room together.

Lucius closed the door behind them.

“How are you feeling? Are you feeling better?”

“I'm not sure how I feel anymore,” you replied with a sigh.

"You looked as pale as a marble statue yesterday; you really should take better care of yourself."

"I see you're still in Rome," you murmured, deliberately dismissing the subtle suggestion in his words.

He placed the delicate cup of soothing herbal tea he had brought for you on the table, steam rising like Marcus’ memories swirling around the room.

"How can I possibly leave when you're feeling this way?" he asked.

"I'll be fine, Lucius," you insisted, your voice more confident than you felt.

He exhaled deeply. “I won't say anything to upset you, but I don't like seeing you this way. You should think of yourself, for your children's sake at least.”

You picked up the cup and glared at him. “I know, but it’s hard.”

Lucius knew you well, and you appreciated that he didn’t try to convince you of anything or comfort you as the others did.

“Just try,” he said before leaving the room.

At the break of dawn, the first light filtered through the mist, illuminating the sturdy tents of the Iulia Alpina legionary camp. Marcus and Octavius approached the entrance, the sound of their sandals crunching on gravel echoing in the quiet morning air. The soldier who had traveled with them had to stay at Octavius' family home because his wounds were worsening.

Two soldiers stepped forward as they neared them, their expressions a mixture of caution and suspicion.

“Halt! Identify yourselves,” one soldier demanded. Seeing them unarmed, he crossed his arms over his chest with confidence, blocking their path.

Octavius’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, igniting a fire in his chest. How could mere soldiers question Marcus, a man who had once commanded the respect and admiration of the entire army? With clenched fists, he felt a surge of indignation at the thought of his general being reduced to an unknown visitor.

But where Octavius seethed, Marcus remained the embodiment of calm dignity. He reached for his finger, slipping off his intricately designed ring and presenting it to one of the soldiers. The metal glinted in the morning sun, a symbol of authority.

“Deliver this to Commander Quintus. He will recognize who I am,” Marcus instructed, his voice steady and assured.

The soldier hesitated, his brow furrowing as he examined the ring. “A Commander's ring? Where did you acquire this?”

“Did you steal it?” a second soldier asked.

Octavius erupted in anger, his voice like thunder. “How dare you say that!”

“Who the hell are you to raise your voice?” the first soldier shot back.

What is going on here?” another came behind them and asked, eyes widening in recognition as they landed on Marcus.

“Sir, these two wanted to see you—” the soldier began, but Commander Quintus silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Return to your posts now!” he barked, authority ringing in his voice. “Come with me.” He gestured for Marcus and Octavius to follow him, the soldiers nodding in surprise as they complied.

Marcus reclaimed his ring, the weight of it in his hand a reminder of his past glories. He turned to the soldier, locking eyes with him. “What is your name, soldier?” he inquired, his tone now softer, almost conspiratorial.

The soldier frowned, taken aback by the unexpected question. “B-Balbus. Why do you ask?”

Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Marcus replied, “I’ll find you one day, Balbus.”

The young soldier quirked an eyebrow, puzzled by the familiarity, and a chill ran down his spine as he felt a strange shiver at the weight of Marcus’s words.

Commander Quintus stepped into his tent and waited for the others to arrive.

“Acacius! General!” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief. “How did you-? We heard you were dead. Just the other day, there was a ceremony…”

“Calm yourself, Quintus. I’ll explain everything,”

Quintus exhaled a deep breath. “Please, take a seat, General. Forgive my soldiers; they wouldn’t have acted this way if they had known who you were. I was too flabbergasted to reveal your identity in front of them—”

“Actually, you acted wisely. I need your help with something. We must return to Rome immediately. Our journey has stretched on for far too long.”

“Of course, but how did you survive that brutal attack? I’ve heard the stories—tens of thousands lost…” Quintus’s voice trailed off. "I can't even imagine..."

“I suppose the gods took pity on us,” Marcus muttered.

“They surely did. It’s a miracle you made it out alive,” Quintus said, shaking his head in awe.

"A miracle indeed," Octavius murmured.

“You mentioned a ceremony,” Marcus said, his brown eyes narrowing as he leaned forward.

“Yes, I attended it. Actually, I only arrived last night. I believe you heard about whom they appointed as general,” he said hesitantly. Marcus nodded in reply. “Varus looked rather smug in his new outfit.”

“I’m certain he did,” Marcus replied coldly. “Did you see anyone else?” He sighed before your name escaped his lips. “Lady Aurelia?”

“Yes, she was there,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

Marcus’s brow knitted in concern. “Did something happen to her?”

“She appeared distraught,” Quintus confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She thinks her husband is dead, the poor lady.”

A heavy silence enveloped them, tightening around Marcus’s chest like a vise. “I must return at once,” he hissed.

Octavius placed a reassuring hand on Marcus’s back. “We will return, brother. Together.”

Quintus nodded, determination etched on his features. “I’ll provide you with my finest horses. You arrive in Rome in a day and a half,” he promised.

Marcus nodded.

“Sir,” a soldier called to Quintus from outside the tent.

“Come in,” Quintus replied.

The soldier saluted and handed him a piece of paper. “A message just arrived, sir, from Rome.”

“Alright, you can leave now,” Quintus replied, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The soldier complied, saluting once more before exiting. Quintus turned to Marcus, his expression darkening. “It’s from General Varus.”

“Open it,” Marcus urged.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Quintus unfolded the paper. As his eyes scanned the lines, shock painted his features, and a breathless murmur escaped his lips. “How can this be?”

“What does it say?” Marcus asked, leaning closer.

“Commander Quintus,” Quintus read aloud, voice steady but tinged with disbelief, “in the name of the people of Rome, I summon your legions to Rome to assist me and my soldiers in arresting Emperor Geta.”

Marcus's brow furrowed as he examined the message and the seal beneath, then handed it over to Octavius.

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Quintus exclaimed, his voice rising with fury.

“He’s trying to place Elagabalus on the throne,” Marcus snarled.

“Is he betraying Emperor Geta now?” Octavius asked.

“That seems to have been his intention all along,” Marcus replied, clenching his fists tightly at his sides, frustration radiating from him like heatwaves. “How could I not have seen it?”

“He must have been the one who tipped off the enemy about our fleet's course,” Octavius added, his voice low yet charged with realization. “They knew exactly where we’d be. The target was you, General—the ship we were on.”

“You're right, Octavius. If I had recognized this earlier…” Marcus said, his voice trailing off as regret washed over him.

“Who could have guessed he would turn out to be such a despicable traitor?”

"We should have seen it, Octavius. If we had, none of this chaos would have unfolded," he replied with a stern look. "Perhaps our brothers would not now be in the depths of the damned sea," he added, the burden of grief heavy on his heart.

Octavius gently placed a hand on his shoulder, sharing in his sorrow and understanding his pain.“We have to leave immediately.” Marcus said then. “We cannot allow Varus to continue his malevolent schemes. If he places Elagabalus on the throne, it will spell disaster for all of Rome.”

“You're right. We have no time to lose.”

“I’ll prepare the horses, but Acacius, Varus has summoned me to the city. If I refuse, he may brand me a traitor,” Quintus said.

“You will go. You must fulfill your duty as a soldier. However, the fact that I am still alive must remain our secret.”

He nodded and left the tent.

“What are we going to do? You won’t be recognized as a general when you reach Rome,” Octavius asked.

“I will confront him and reclaim my rightful title, but before that, we must find a way to stop him. If they manage to capture Geta and place Elagabalus on the throne, we'll lose our chance for good, and with the sands of time slipping away, we cannot afford any delays."

“We have until their fleet reaches Ostia.”

“If Elagabalus is on that fleet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it Octavius. If Varus didn’t wait for the fleet, he may have already allowed Elagabalus to sneak into the city,” he explained, dread lacing his words.

“Gods forbid! if we don’t make it in time—”

Marcus exhaled a heavy breath. “Then we will have truly lost…"

When you woke up in the morning, you heard footsteps just outside your chamber. Then, Geta entered your room with a big smile on his face, followed by the slaves carrying trays full of food. You looked at them with puzzled, sleepy eyes.

“What is happening?” you asked.

“I arranged for breakfast to be served in your room,” he replied, gesturing for the slaves to place the trays on the table.

“I can see that. May I ask why?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on now. I just wanted us to have breakfast together. Get up and join me,” he said as he sat down at the table.

He was likely trying to make you feel better, but he was putting in a bit too much effort.

“Geta, I want to return home now,” you whined.

“Alright, alright, but I kindly ask that you join me for just one breakfast before we leave together,” he suggested earnestly.

You huffed. “Very well.”

After breakfast, Geta indicated his intention to proceed downstairs to arrange for the carriage, assuring that he would await your presence in the courtyard. Leaving the room was difficult, but going to the villa felt even harder. Marcus seemed to be everywhere; his memories were etched in every corner, and his beautiful face appeared wherever you looked. Today you felt more broken than yesterday; the pain remained, only now it felt bigger.

You couldn’t deny that Geta's support helped to ease the pain a bit. However, the problem was that every time you were alone after a moment of relief, the reality of Marcus’s absence struck you like a slap in the face. Each time it felt more violent, more jarring, and more hurtful. You didn’t know how to cope with the pain, and what was worse, you were sure it would linger with you for the rest of your life. All you could do was wait for him to return, just as he promised you in your dream. His return was your only medicine; the only thing that could heal you was feeling his presence again.

Upon your arrival in the courtyard, Geta greeted you with a warm smile. “Are you prepared to depart, sister?” he inquired, with genuine warmth in his tone.

You nodded in affirmation. “Yes, I am ready.”

“I’ve already missed Marcius and our little princess. It will do me good to see them.”

“Oh, that’s right, I never thanked you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For giving your bracelets to Marcius.”

He smiled. “I wanted to give my nephew a gift worthy of a Roman prince.”

“A very suitable gift indeed,” you responded, returning his smile, feeling a brief lift in your spirits.

Just as you were about to exit, Darius entered the courtyard purposefully, his demeanor suggesting urgency. “Your Majesty! I was on my way to locate you.” His expression conveyed a sense of importance, and he was clearly catching his breath.

“What is the matter, Commander? Has something occurred?” he asked.

His brow knitted in concern as he looked around warily.

“Centurio- General Varus…” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

“What about him?”

“He's on his way here with his troops, Your Majesty,” he replied, a shadow of dread crossing his face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“With the intent to arrest you,” he continued, his tone grave.

“What?” you squeaked, feeling a chill run down your spine.

Geta stood frozen for a moment, shock rendering him speechless, his eyes darting with alarm.

“My men have managed to block them at the entrance to Palatine Hill, but their numbers are overwhelming. We won't be held off for long. We need to get you out of here—now.”

“How dare Varus commit this treachery?” he demanded, anger boiling within.

“We don’t know his motives, Your Highness. My men will escort you to the safe place we discussed earlier.” He unsheathed his sword with a schwing sound. “You must go with them immediately. And you too, my lady, follow His Majesty closely.”

“I need to go home!” you protested, panic threading through your voice.

“Aurelia, didn’t you hear? Varus has committed treason not only against me but against the entire imperial family."

"We suspect he may be colluding with Elagabalus,” Darius added.

A cold shiver coursed through you, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Marcius... My son... I have to reach him now!”

“We will, but first we must escape this place!” Geta urged.

“This way, Your Majesty,” one of the guards pointed to a shadowy inner courtyard, the air thick with tension and urgency.

“Bring the Empress and my son!” Geta commanded.

“I’ll fetch them; you go ahead, please!” the other guard shouted urgently before he left your side.

Geta grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the shadowy corridors, following the clattering footsteps of the guards. Your heart was pounding like a drum, the sound of fear and panic filling your head as you thought of your son.

“Don’t worry,” Geta murmured, urgency lacing his words. “There’s a secret path winding from the tombs beneath Palatine Hill. It’s an escape route that Darius, Acacius, and I devised for emergencies like this.”

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his name. Whenever you were scared in situations like this, the confidence that he would come to your rescue always kept you calm. But now, he was absent, and you were left in the cruel grip of uncertainty. A chilling question gnawed at your mind: could these truly be the last moments of your life? You thought that death would be far less terrifying if it weren’t for your children. The thought of them being left fatherless and orphaned weighed heavily on you, and despair threatened to consume you. If they lost their mother too, what fate awaited them in this unforgiving world? You strained to push those dark thoughts aside, desperately trying to focus on the present moment.

The guards led you to the tombs, and one of them went to check if the exit was safe. You paused, waiting for his return to your side; you gazed at the statue of your father, and you silently prayed to be reunited with Marcus and to return safely to your children.

“Don’t pray to him; he won’t hear you,” Geta said.

You looked at him in shock.

“He never heard me. He wouldn’t have heard me even when he was still alive.”

"How do you mean?"

“Caracalla and I were merely heirs to him. He didn’t see us as sons; perhaps we weren’t worthy in his eyes. I can’t say. But he had one true child, and that was you. He loved only you,” he declared, his voice growing thick with a storm of emotions.

“Geta, what are you—”

“I held my silence before because, at first, it was simply jealousy. But the more I learned about you, the clearer it became why he cherished you so deeply. Caracalla’s anger only grew in tandem.” He put his hand on Caracalla’s bust, on his shoulder. "The reason they called us evil twins was that’s exactly what we were. Our father played a significant role in that; he was a soldier, a commander who viewed us as his soldiers. He often beat Caracalla, and I would shield him to protect him, but sometimes, I was too scared and just watched. He even believed that Caracalla's height was his fault. He never loved us, Aurelia, and I know he didn’t love my mother either. He must have preferred you and your mother," he said, laughing bitterly. "I don’t hold it against you—please don’t misunderstand. But if he had treated us well and given us a father’s love, maybe Caracalla wouldn’t have become so angry or fooled to believe someone like Macrinus. I think he loved Rome more than he loved us, even more than he loved you, since he sent you, his most precious, away."

Tears began to flow down your cheeks, as you were already on the verge of crying. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Even though he's my brother, he deserved to die. It was either Rome or him. But Acacius... Now you see why we consistently sent Acacius to war—to push him into taking action. We even threw him into the Colosseum several times to see if he was worthy of commanding the army. Just for fun.” He confessed. “We despised my father so much that we wanted to destroy everything he had built for Rome. Caracalla, in particular, was intent on this destruction, even if it meant starving the people to death. However, I now realize how wrong we were. Acacius, that honorable man, had to endure our actions for years. We never considered his situation; to us, he was merely an expendable servant." He exhaled. “Everything changed when you came into our lives. First, you healed Acacius, and then you healed me, both body and soul. You entered both of our hearts. But what truly matters is how you healed Rome, how you became a precious part of her. You are the heart of Rome.” He gently caressed your cheek, his hand trembling with a mix of regret and affection. “Yet now, your heart aches because of me. Forgive me for failing to protect him. I should have had Elagabalus eliminated rather than merely banished. This burden of guilt is all mine."

"Blaming yourself won’t alter the outcome. But Acacius is not dead; I hold that belief deep in my soul."

"I sincerely hope you're right, sister.”

A few hurried footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridor, breaking the tense silence. Nerissa appeared, carrying Publius in her arms.

"What’s the situation?" Geta asked the guards.

“Your Majesty, the troops have encircled Domus Severiana,” one guard replied, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “We must leave immediately.” He glanced anxiously at a fellow guard. “And where is Drusus?”

“He went to scout the exit, but he hasn’t returned yet, sir,” came the worried response.

“Regardless, we have to move. Your Majesty, stay close.”

“Lead the way, then,” Geta said, pulling Nerissa to one side and you to the other. Together, you pressed forward, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls.

You had never ventured this far from the tombs and had no idea there was an escape route. The darkness wrapped around you like a shroud, and the presence of an escape route was a startling revelation. Marcus must have carefully crafted a plan to safeguard everyone before his departure. As you recalled that he had experienced sleepless nights months ago, you understood the reasons behind his anxiety. But what did it accomplish for you, other than keeping you apart?

You continued onward, trying to suppress your anger. You needed to get out of here and reach the villa as soon as possible.

After walking down an endless corridor, you reach a wooden door that opens to the outside. One of the guards drew his sword, approached the door, and slowly opened it. Just as he stepped outside, he was attacked. During the ensuing clash, other guard was ambushed by a man wearing a cloak, similar to the first attacker. Geta quickly pulled you and Nerissa back. The air was thick with tension as the chilling sound of steel clashing echoed through the corridor. Moments later, both guards lay lifeless on the floor, their life force drained, leaving only a gnawing panic coursing through your veins as the attackers advanced, their swords aimed at you.

In a shocking turn, Nerissa released her grip on Geta's hand and stepped forward, her movement very calm, which left you astonished.

“Nerissa, what are you doing?” Geta shouted.

Yet, she remained silent, standing defiantly beside the attackers, her gaze locked onto Geta with intensity.

“The time for revenge has come, Your Majesty, or should I say, my husband?”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean? Do you know these men?” 

“I overheard everything when you planned this escape route. They were waiting for you here.” She smiled cruelly.

"Why the hell-"

“You thought I would never find out, didn’t you?” She snapped.

“What are you talking about? I don't-”

“I know how you had my mother and father killed!”

Geta appeared taken aback but maintained his composure. “You knew? All this time, why didn’t you confront me?”

“I found out. Elagabalus revealed everything to me.”

“That bastard doesn’t know shit! Did you truly believe his words?”

“Why did you do it?” Nerissa barked, her voice filled with fury. “Why?” Another bark followed. Publius began to cry, and she handed him to the man beside her. “Get him to the place we discussed,” she ordered, and he nodded in response.

“Where the hell are you taking my son?” Geta shouted, but the other man pointed his sword at him, halting his advance. In a panic, you grabbed Geta's shawl.

“All those years... I stood by your side through it all and obeyed your every command. How could you betray me like this?”

“Nerissa, it was Caracalla who was behind it,” you said. “Geta—”

Geta grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him. “Don’t, Aurelia. This is between us.”

Nerissa laughed. “Between us? I thought there was nothing between us. All this time, I was in love with you. I believed in you, I trusted you, and I hoped that maybe you would love me for the sake of our son. But what did you do? You fell in love with your sister!" She barked as she looked at you. "Do you recognize these people? They came from Athens just to take their revenge, which Elagabalus promised us.”

The men pushed back their hoods, revealing their faces. These were the Greeks from the wedding. Nerissa asked for his sword, and he gave it to her. Then she walked toward Geta, who didn't even flinch, seemed frustrated, realizing he had been fooled all this time—just like you. Both of you are petrified.

"My mother and father came to Rome just to speak to you and your brother. Why did you have them killed? Did you enjoy hiding the truth from me? Did you laugh behind my back while I was foolishly serving you without knowing anything? You took pleasure in having me after you killed them, didn’t you? That’s who you are!"

“No, that's not true!” Geta shouted.

“Caracalla wanted to kill them in front of you, to make you watch. I prevented him. Yes, I let them be killed, and I don’t deny that. But I kept it from you because I knew how devastated you would be. I was afraid you’d do something reckless and get yourself killed. I cared for you; I wanted you by my side. I was trying to protect you from Caracalla.”

"Yet you pushed me into his bed."

Geta squeezed his eyes shut, a look of regret on his face. "I had to, and I'll never forgive myself for it, but he would have killed you for sure if I hadn't. You know what he was like - his anger was unlike mine; it blinded him."

"So you did it to protect me? Then why didn't you love me? Was it so hard?" Nerissa's eyes began to fill with tears.

"I wanted to, I really tried,” Geta murmured. "But I cared for you, Nerissa." His tone was sincere. “I still do.”

A few footsteps approached from behind you, causing the men to tense up in that direction.

"My lady, we must leave at once. The ship is ready and waiting to sail," someone urged Nerissa.

Nerissa shot another deadly glance at Geta. "I don’t believe you. Whatever you say or do, it won't change what you've done."

Geta nodded and spread his arms wide. "Go ahead then. Do what you must."

"No!" you shouted, grabbing his arm. "Geta, what are you doing?"

"Let her do it, Aurelia. I deserve it."

You looked at Nerissa. "Please, Nerissa, stop! Revenge won't bring your mother and father back! I know you love Geta. Do you really want your son to grow up without a father? What will you tell him one day when he asks about his father?"

“He will know what his father has done and will hate him. I will make sure of it!”

Geta held your hand and pulled you toward the exit. "You can kill me, but let Aurelia go. She has nothing to do with this, and you know that. She was always kind to you."

Nerissa narrowed her eyes."You value her life over your own. Even in your final moments, you think of her. You love her more than you ever loved me."

"Stop it and just do what you're going to do!" Geta barked.

The sounds were getting closer. Nerissa tried to thrust the sword, Geta, but her hands trembled when she looked him in the eye. One of the men seized the sword from her. “My lady, we’re out of time. Let me handle this.”

Nerissa handed him the sword. “Kill her first,” she said, glancing at you. “He’ll understand what I’m going through as he watches his most precious one die.”

You gasped as he brought the sword to your neck. You closed your eyes tightly, and Geta shouted, “NO!”

You whispered softly to yourself with your eyes closed, "Marcus, I love you.”

In the blink of an eye, a black shadow appeared before your eyelids, and you heard the sharp sound of a sword cutting through fabric and flesh. A choking sound, followed by a growl, and a few strands of hair grazed your cheek. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Geta's blonde hair. Herd, and as you reached out to grab him, the weight and shock of the moment caused your knees to buckle, and you collapsed. The crown on Geta's head fell to the floor as he toppled backward onto you, the sound echoing through the stone corridor. But there was a more terrible sound. Geta had been hit hard by the sword in the stomach and blood was oozing from the cut. He was making choking noises, and his breathing was becoming increasingly difficult.

"No, no, no, no, no," You mumbled as you pressed both of your hands against his abdomen, where blood was gushing out.

“Aurelia!"

It was Lucius' voice, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Geta's eyelids seemed to grow heavier by the second as he struggled to breathe.

Lucius hurled a knife at one of the men as he charged them. The blade struck the man in the chest, causing him to stagger backwards and fall. With remarkable speed and agility, Lucius deftly slashed at the other attacker with his sword. While you sobbed violently as Nerissa ran away in panic, seemingly unconcerned.

“Lucius! Please help me!” you cried, pressing your hands against Geta’s injury, but the blood continued to flow violently.

When Lucius noticed the blood pooling on the floor and realized it was also flowing down Geta's back, he scowled. The sword cut through him, and he realized it meant only one thing. "Aurelia..."

‘What should we do? Maybe if we stitch him up,’ you gasped.

Blood poured from Geta's mouth as he coughed, and more started to seep from the corner of his lips.

Lucius gently touched your cheek. “Aurelia...” As you looked into his blue eyes, you understood what he was implying, but you were unwilling to accept it.

“No, no, no! We can save him. Geta! Look at me!” You held his face in both hands, tears streaming down your cheeks.

His blood-stained lips curled into a smile. Coughing, "It's blissful..." "...to die..." he muttered, again coughing up blood, "...in your arms," rolling his eyes as his eyelids flitted open and shut.

"You're not going to die!“Look at me! No! No!” Your desperate cries reverberated against the cold, unforgiving stone walls, creating a haunting echo that felt as if it were mocking your pleas.

Lucius grabbed your shoulders and shook you. “Aurelia, we have to go now! The soldiers have entered the courtyard; they’ll be here soon! We don’t have time!”

You were engulfed in a haze of shock, your hands trembling as you shook Geta violently. “Geta!”

Yet, he remained unresponsive, his eyes closed in an unsettling stillness.

“He's gone, Aurelia,” Lucius’s voice cut through the silence, reverberating painfully in your ears. “He's dead,” he repeated his words a cruel echo of your own fears. “Let me save you.” With a sense of urgency, he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you as if trying to carry you away from the heartbreaking scene.

“No, Lucius! He can't die! Please! GETA!” Desperation clawed at your throat as you fought against him, your sobs raw and choked. You reached out, stretching your hands toward Geta, as if the mere act of touching him could breathe life back into his still form. The atmosphere around you shifted as the metallic clang of soldiers' armour and the hurried tread of feet echoed down the corridor.

“Find them now!” a commanding voice boomed.

Lucius grasped your blood-soaked wrist in a desperate grip. "We must go now!"

Your body felt weak, a puppet torn from its strings, each sob dragging you further into the despair and aching throbbing of your loss.

"Hurry, Aurelia! We might have a chance if we take this path!" His voice urged you forward. But your legs felt weak, and you feared you would fall at any moment. It was all too overwhelming—too much pain and loss. Lucius stopped and looked at you, his expression earnest. "Aurelia, we have to get out of here now before the soldiers find us. Do you hear me? They were talking about arresting you. Think of your children. Think of Marcius. We need to get him somewhere safe."

Suddenly, all your senses returned. "Marcius, my son," you murmured. He was right—Elagabalus would want to eliminate the entire imperial family before claiming the throne. "Let's go, Lucius!" you urged, meeting his gaze.

He nodded. "Come, this way."

A little further along the banks of the Tiber, you emerged onto the plain, where Felix met you, flanked by two horses. "My lady, we must leave at once. Cato is at the villa; I sent him ahead to finalize the preparations."

You nodded in response. Lucius mounted one of the horses and extended his hand to you. "Come on."

Felix jumped onto the other horse as you settled behind him. But the soldiers had spotted you. "Hey! Stop right there!"

Fortunately, they didn’t have horses. You wrapped your arms tightly around Lucius as he and Felix kicked their horses forward. The soldiers yelled after you and ran, but they couldn’t keep up. You knew they would head to the villa, and your only hope was to reach it before they did. You turned your head for one last look at the silhouette of Palatine Hill disappearing behind you, your mind was clouded with thoughts of Geta. It felt surreal and almost unbearable to accept that he was gone, leaving behind an echo of memories that tugged at your heart.

to be continued...

I apologise to those who love Geta, but now we are approaching the end of the story and I will end this series even though I don't want to, you know everything has an end and I want to do it in the best way while ending it, I will probably end it in the 30th chapter, I hope you are still enjoying it, love you all:)

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your likes, comments and reblogs are soo important to me, and thank you for all support, love you all❤️

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[sexhaver]

great ragebait. who’s your idea of a smart person?

idolizing anyone as "smart" in the general sense is going to inevitably lead to embarrassment when they do or say something stupid. building up an expertise in any one field to the extent that you serve as an inspiration for others in that field will result in shortcomings and blind spots elsewhere. great authors are going to have dogshit takes on IP laws. great political theorists are going to make dumbass points about technology. one of my coworkers at my old job could practically rework PCBs blindfolded and also regularly forgot to include water when microwaving cup noodles. Herman Cain was a genuinely groundbreaking neurosurgeon who invented novel procedures to separate the brains of cojoined twins and also thought that the Great Pyramids were used as grain silos.

the reason i'm so dismissive of people who ever held a positive opinion of Elon Musk is because the only things he's ever been held up as "smart" about are things that he's very obviously (to anyone with actual expertise in that field) a dumbass about. he's not good at "technology"; all of his press events featured untested and faked demos (like an "autonomous" humanoid robot being puppetted from the next room over or his brain implants killing test subjects) and listening to him talk about potential future advancements belies a complete lack of experience in the field. he's not good at urban planning: every suggestion he makes in that field is transparently motivated by his desire to sell more cars. he's not good at making cars: they blow up, catch fire in special ways that require FULL IMMERSION IN WATER to put out, have their autopilot fail fatally, and are only cheaper than the competition because of government contracts. he's not good at aerospace: his rockets blow up, are worse than what NASA has been doing by every conceivable metric, and all of his "advances" in that field are focused around fulfilling contracts for the US military centered around sending arbitrary payloads anywhere on earth really fast (which they also can't do). you can't even fall back on the "well at least he knows how to run a business" argument because he's been running Tesla into the ground since buying it from the original inventors with stunts like getting rid of OSHA-mandated yellow safety markings because he doesn't like yellow, to the extent that literally any other human being on Earth would have been forced out by the board of directors years ago. even if you narrow your focus to any one field, Elon Musk has never been anything other than a fraud to anyone who cared to investigate

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Honda Life Pick-Up, 1973. Honda's first generation kei pick-up was powered by a 360cc straight 2 cylinder engine, weighing only 550kg to had a payload of 375kg. It was a sales disaster with only 1,132 units produced, it was withdrawn from the market in 1974

[queers-gambit]

The Blood of the Covenant

prompt: ( requested ) being raised alongside the Twins, you naturally fell on path to become a contract killer - much to Tangerine's chagrin. when you're recruited onto the Bullet Train, too, emotions cum into play - get it?

pairing: Tangerine x female!assassin!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 9.4k+

note: this isn't very good, i'm very sorry.

warnings: codename Olive 'cause it's cute, cursing, Lord's name in vain, mild spoilers, AU timeline (obviously), Tan is still Aaron, Lem is still Brian, emotional confessions, mild depiction of violence, very short and poorly written smut, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, needles / weaponized venom [The Hornet], and dead bodies.

"So, you get on the train, you find the Twins, and you get off - it's easy," Constance, your handler, scolded through the phone. "Seriously, why are you so nervous? It's like the most lowkey job you've ever been assigned."

"Yeah, you're just forgetting the part where I have to locate some generic looking briefcase on this God forsaken train, make sure they have the White Death's son, then get them all off - "

"Okay, see, now you're making it all complicated," Constance laughed again. "C'mon, Olive, tell me the truth."

"What truth?"

"You're nervous," she sang in your ear.

"No shit, I'm nervous!" You snapped, connecting the bluetooth device and shoving your phone in your pocket as the train jetted into the station. "Do you have a good reason I shouldn't be?"

"Um, how about the fact that you guys grew up in the orphanage together, making you practically family, and that they're gonna be overjoyed to see you?"

"Yeah, right!" You laughed, "You don't know the guys, and it's been, like, 4 years since I've seen them. They're scary overprotective and if they know what I'm doing professionally, they'll probably handcuff me to one of them and deliver me to some nunnery."

"Are those even a thing anymore?"

"Fuck if I know," you snorted.

"You're overthinking, Olive, just breathe," she advised. "Look, the intel is good. The White Death is up to something and if you wanna see the Twins alive, you need to get them off the train."

"Cool, so fuck the case and the son?"

"Nope, you wanna get paid, you gotta grab them, too."

You sighed, the train doors opening. "Well, here goes fucking nothing..."

"I've literally never heard you this nervous, it's kinda cute."

"Constance, is there a reason we're still on the phone?" You asked, nodding at the people you passed and excusing yourself as you searched the train cars slowly.

"I wanna hear how this goes!"

"Call you when I have the payloads, 'mmkay?"

"No," she whined, "c'mon, lemme hear the reunion!"

"Goodbye, Constance, as always, you're a giant pain in my ass."

"Oh, like you're a basket of roses. Fine, go, deprive me of this. Fucking killjoy!"

"Talk soon - and if not, I'm probably shot."

"Well, just... Don't get shot?"

"Spot-on advice, love."

"You'd be lost without me."

"Bye, you idiot."

"Seriously, don't get shot!"

Disconnecting the call, you chuckled to yourself and dodged around a family. However, right behind them was a man in a bucket hat and thick black framed glasses carrying a silver briefcase, who bumped your shoulder. "Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am," he instantly apologized in English.

"No worries," you smiled, nodding at him. "Have a nice ride."

"You, too," he nodded back, and you turned to continue on your way, missing the way the man eyed you - and gulped when he caught sight of the gun in your waistband. He scurried on his way.

You entered another train car, pausing to take a long breath as you surveyed the patrons. You moved onto the next section, the train rocketing into motion. However, as you approached the next set of doors, you gasped and skirted to a halt when two men lingered in the connection.

"Oh - what the bloody fuck are you doing here!?" Aaron snapped instantly.

"Well, hello to you, too, love," you grumbled with a curled lip.

"Hi, doll!"

You grinned at Brian, greeting him with enthusiasm; offering a giant hug, him kissing your cheek noisily. "So good to see you," you told him when you pulled back.

"Tan," Brian snapped, glaring at him as he gestured at you. "C'mon, mate, don't be like this - 's been years!"

"Yeah, Tan," you pouted dramatically.

"You even know what Tan stands for?" Brian snickered.

"Nope."

"Tangerine," then he pointed at himself, "Lemon."

Aaron's blue eyes rolled, sighing deeply before nodding. "Right, right, c'mere, then, you," he opened his arms, and when you stepped into his embrace, you swear, it was like returning home. After a beat, you felt his arms tighten and his nose press into your neck, subtly inhaling; making you give him a tighter squeeze.

"Oh, Jesus, all right, c'mon, I'm standing right here," Lemon groaned, you and Tan parting, but only saddling beside him with his arm around your neck and yours anchored around his waist.

"So," you chirped, shifting your body weight, "you two have the case, I assume? And the Son - "

"Oh, you've gotta be fuckin' joking," Tangerine snapped, glaring at you as you grinned mischievously. "How's it you know about any of that?"

"She's on assignment, felt the gun when I hugged her," Lemon snickered as if it were common knowledge. "How long you've been working, love? Why didn't you ring us? Talk to us 'bout this?"

"I needed to?"

"No, but just for a bit of a catch-up?" Lemon shrugged. "You know, tell us you're doin' some dangerous job instead of teaching? Aren't you supposed to be a teacher now?"

"This pays better."

"Not gonna get paid a single dime, the fuck's wrong with you?" Tan snapped, dropping the arm from your neck to round on you in anger. "You're seriously on a job?"

"Mhm," you hummed with a smile. "And why won't I see a dime, exactly?"

"'Cause you're not doin' this fuckin' job, love, for fuck's sake!"

"Tan, just calm down," Lemon sighed, holding a hand to him as the man with a pornstache paced in a small circle; wiping a hand around his mouth. "Love? What's the job you're on?"

"Mh," you nodded, "well, 's a bit unprofessional to tell you, but fuck it. I'm to collect the case, grab the White Death's son, and get you two off this fucking train."

"Oh - for fuck's - "

"Tan!" Lemon laughed. "Mate, take a breath! She's obviously qualified if she's made it this far, got this assignment."

You grinned, "You ever hear rumors about that shit that went down in Medellín?"

"Don't tell me," Lemon gasped. "That was you?"

"Most of it wasn't intentional, but I'm pretty good at improvising," you teased. "Anyways, I heard about Bolivia, you two are certainly making names for yourselves, aren't yah?"

"Well," Lemon smiled bashfully, waving you off.

"Right, so, we're approaching the next station," you pointed out, clasping your hands in front of you and smiling, "so, where's the Son?"

"Oh, uh, up there," Lem pointed to the next train car.

"Mhm, good, good, good, and the case?" There was an awkward silence as Lemon and Tangerine exchanged long looks. "Hey? Where's the case, Brian - I mean, Lemon?"

"Well, uh... Funny thing, yeah?" He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Tan? Sweetheart?" You smiled prettily, reaching for his hand to halt his pacing, "Where's the case?"

"It's..." Tan trailed, seeing Lemon shaking his head vigorously from behind you. He sighed when he met your sweet eyes and admitted, "It got lifted, love."

"Oh, you fuckin' simp," Lemon groaned.

"What? Wanted me t'lie? She's got that sixth sense for that shit, mate!" Tangerine defended.

"No, you're just whipped!"

"She's looking for the same bloody case, she'd know eventually!"

You let go of Tan's hand to answer your ringing phone, holding a finger to them both, "Hey, Constance, now's not a great time."

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Nothing, just reuniting with the lads," you eased. "I'll call you when we have the case and kid, and are off the train, all right? And if I don't - "

"Yeah, yeah, you're shot. Fine, just..." She sighed. "Listen, you three aren't the only ones on assignment."

"Hmm?" You perked your brows.

"Yeah, so, Maria's got an agent in the field. Also, I just got intel that the Wolf's there, no idea why. The Hornet, too."

"You're fuckin' joking, right?"

"Nope. They popped up on our travel itineraries. They used pseudonyms naturally, but we have their records."

"Fuck me, all right... All right, yeah, we'll handle it."

"No, don't handle anything! Remember Rome!?"

"Rome wasn't my fault!" You snapped, taking a deep breath. "But it did piss the Hornet off, we'll be careful."

"Get off the fucking train, Olive!"

"When the packages are secured, love, yeah, all right, gotta go, bye-bye now!"

"Olive - "

You hung up and put your phone in your back pocket, sighing at the Twins. "Well, this just got more interesting. We aren't the only ones on this job," you frowned.

"What?" Lem's face dropped.

"Wait, what happened in Rome?" Tangerine asked, offering you his signature look of annoyance: a frown and pinched brows.

"Oh, nothing that was my doing," you waved off. "So, to recap, the case is missing, but the Son is secured?"

"Zip tied to his seat," Lemon nodded.

"Mhm, and where was the case?"

"I had it stashed, but..." He eyed the luggage tossed around the compartment.

"Now, it's gone. Okay, okay," you nodded, "so, just for future reference, don't stash the goods, all right? Terribly unprofessional, darling."

"Yeah," he nodded sadly.

"Oh, so when she says it - "

"She doesn't get all smart with me!" Lemon cut Tangerine off with a warning finger as he paced in the compartment. "The fuck do we do? We just passed the station - the fucker could've gotten off - I mean!"

"Easy," you spoke softly, but the panic was set between the two. You sighed when Lemon turned frantic, leaning back on the wall as Tangerine stood beside you.

"No, no, look, we got his son," Lemon reminded. "That was our job."

Tangerine shared a look with you, making you chide, "Stay calm. You get nowhere bein' so up-tight." His expression melted into something close to reprimanding, but he sighed and faced Lemon.

"Our job was to come back with his son and his $10 million. Three words to describe our situation right now, do you know what they are?"

Lemon glared, "Sure do." Then held up three fingers, dropping one for each word, "Saved - his - son. Hmm? Family's more important than money, right?"

"Do you honestly not know who the White Death is?"

"Yeah, I know who the White Death is. You just told me five minutes ago," Lemon snipped, making you sigh as he rambled an explanation.

"Why do I even bothering forwarding you the briefings?" Tan interrupted, exasperated by the entire ordeal.

There was a pause and Lemon replied softly, almost sheepishly, "I do not know. You get briefings, love?"

"Mhm, but my handler likes giving me the CliffNotes," you eased with a small shrug.

When Tangerine turned from you two to face the train's door, staring out the window, you and Lemon shared a look - his hand raising as if to wave off Tan's theatrics. In return, you just held a placating hand to him, letting Tangerine start his story about the White Death. When he got through his tale, he took a long breath, sighing deeply, musing as he turned back to you both, "So, let me put this bluntly. There's this soulless, psychotic leader with the largest criminal organization on the planet," then his hands dramatically gestured, "shoved right inside our fucking arse cheeks."

Lemon stared at his partner and then, too, mused, "That motherfucker's definitely a Diesel, then, isn't he?"

"You mention Thomas the Tank Engine one more time, I'm gonna shoot you in the fucking face," Tangerine snapped.

"No, no, he won't, Brian," you stepped in, standing between the two, glancing between them.

"'S Lemon when on the job, love."

"All right, sure, my apologies, Lemon," you agreed, "but he's not gonna shoot you." Lemon hummed and pointed at you in triumph, mocking Tangerine, making you scold, "No, don't do that, either. Your attitude gets us nowhere, right, lads?"

Lemon nodded at you before looking to Tan, asking, "Okay, okay, if-if-if-if he's such a badarse, how come he hired three random operators instead of getting his son back himself?"

"I wasn't hired by the White Death," you smiled, reaching a hand to Tangerine's to hold tightly when you saw his fuse about to blow. "And, you see, he had a wife, Lem."

"What? He had a wife?"

"Yeah," you nodded, ignoring Tan's impending meltdown, "and she was the most important thing in his life, and she died in a car crash. Some reports say it was an accident, some drunk driver... And others say it was an assignation attempt." You missed the look Tangerine sent you, looking you up and down, relating to the 'most important thing' comment. "But since then, he's not left the compound," you finished.

"An unnamed locomotive might say there's a lesson to be learned," Lemon quipped, irritating Tangerine.

"And you know what? He didn't hire three - or two," Tan amended, nodding at you, "random operators, Lemon. No, he asked for the best. He asked for the two responsible for the Bolivia job. He asked for pros, who wouldn't fuck up... Three words, Lemon, and now, you, too, sweetheart," he sneered at you. "We - are - "

"Fucked," Lemon finished.

"Oi, listen here, you two Debbie Downers, Christ, all right? Every situation can be remedied," you assured. "Yeah, this is - this isn't ideal, but between us three, we can figure something out. Yeah? Talkin' about you two bein' the best," you squeezed Tan's hand, "surely we can figure something out. C'mon, when do we give up?"

Lemon cocked his head, asking, "All right. Yeah, sure, but what's your codename? Can't go 'round callin' you your government. Would blow our covers."

"Olive," you smiled brightly, Tangerine scoffing. "Fuck off," you snapped instantly.

"Right, well, Olive's right," Lemon deflected, not giving Tan time to retort. He reached out to adjust Tan's suit lapel and tie, "We rescued his fucking son. Huh? We find the fucker who took the briefcase, make things right, be like it never happened," he laid out for you two, and when you tired to release his hand, Tangerine held on tighter - not letting you go.

Tangerine took a deep breath in, letting it out as he pulled out his gun with his free hand, flipping it open, checking the full round of bullets present, and snapping it closed before storing it again. He glanced at you before asking Lemon, "Still got that vest on yah?"

"No, vests give you a false sense of security," Lemon answered. "You might, like, get shot in the neck."

"Yeah, it also stops you from getting shot in the chest, but I guess you missed that episode of Thomas, did'yah?" Tan quipped, not letting Lemon time to answer because he looked at you again. "Bein' said, you are gonna stay put, doll face."

"Excuse the fuck outta me?"

"Heard me," he snapped. "You're sitting this one out."

"I don't remember being hired by you," you dropped his hand to cross your arms. "You don't get a say in what I do - this isn't like back in the group home where you two bossed me 'around, playin' big brother."

"It's exactly like that, 'cause we've been doin' this a helluva lot longer - "

"And I was still hired to do this job, so, I suggest you shut the fuck up and watch yourself."

"I'm tryna keep you safe!"

"We're not children anymore, Aaron!" You snapped. "You don't get to dictate what I do anymore! Christ, all right? I was hired for this job, just like you two, so you can either get with the program and we work together, or just shut the fuck up - 'cause I'm not sitting a Goddamn thing out!"

"Jesus fuck, could cut the sexual tension between you two with a fucking plastic spoon." Lemon scoffed, rolling his eyes; earning two identical glares for either of you. "Fine, whatever, keep denying whatever this is - but look, you two done?" Lemon sighed, and when you nodded, he nodded back. "Right - nut up or shut up, bruv."

You went to follow Lemon out, but Tan snagged your arm before you got a step too far. He kept you at his side, laying your arm in the crook of his, and in-sync, he and Lemon fluffed their outerwear as you three stalked up the train aisle. You licked the pad of your thumb and wiped a bit of grime from the corner of Tan's mouth, his smirk directed at you as you approached the Son secured in his seat.

"Well, so, slight change of plans," Tan announced when you reached the seating. Lemon reached out to alert the seemingly sleeping Son, but the movement of his shoulder caused the lad's head to lull towards you three - making each of you recoil instantly.

"Oh!" You three groaned in union, seeing the rivers of blood streaming down the Son's eyes. He was dead as a doornail, some would say.

You stood watch as Tan and Lem leaned in closer to observe the dead body, Lemon commenting, "First his wife, now his son? That's a lot of white deaths."

Tangerine took a deep breath in, you reaching out to squeeze his elbow. "Sit down," you hissed quietly, "before you draw attention to us standing around a fucking corpse!"

"You're on watch!" Tan shot back.

"Can't do shit if you two are just staring at him! Fuck's sake, sit! You're so suspicious, aren'y you meant to be an agent?"

You pushed Lemon into the seat next to the Son and then Tan into the seating beside the window so you could claim the outside seat beside him. "We gotta disguise the body," Tan whispered, whipping out his handkerchief. You watched him dab the material to his tongue, reaching across to start cleaning the blood while Lemon looked around for anything to help.

"Hang on, hang on," he rushed, Tan pausing when a souvenir cart was approaching and pushing the lad's head towards the window. "Could we get a pair of them glasses, please?" He asked the kind attendant. "They look real fun."

The pretty lady nodded and handed over the oversized toy glasses, Lemon forking over a simple note and insisting the change be kept. You thanked the attendant in her native language as she passed, and after doing a look up and down again, nodded, "All right, go."

"Any fuckin' idea what happened?" Lemon muttered.

"No," Tan snapped.

"Looks like The Hornet's work," you whispered. "Yeah, see, her specialty are poisons and venom, most notably, that of the Boomslang snake." You smirked, "Anyone see the news recently? A Boomslang went missing earlier..."

Tan pulled the lad's head back and continued cleaning the blood off, needing to raise outta his seat to finish the job. Lemon offered, "Here, mate, try these. They're them Momonga glasses."

"The fuck is a Momonga?" Tan sneered through a small panicked pant, taking the toy and settling them on the Son's face.

"Japanese anime kid's show," you offered softly.

"Comes on after Thomas every Thursday," Lemon rushed, gasping, "oh, shi - " when the Son's head dropped. Tan and Lem fixed him to look as if he was only sleeping by leaning his head on the window.

"Thought you two were masters of disguise?" You teased.

"Shut it, darling, please," Tan snipped with a sigh. "All right, we need to split up - there's a lot of train to cover."

"What're we doing?" You asked, standing when Tan gestured you out of the way.

"Gonna find whoever has the case - probably the same nut job who killed the kid," he seethed. "The Hornet, you said?" He asked, watching you nod. Standing as a trio in the middle of the train aisle, you three agreed to split up and search for the case, but Tan insisted you come with him, "as back-up."

"You seriously need it?" You chuckled.

"No, but I wanna keep an eye on yah," he rolled his eyes.

"Shouldn't someone stay with the body?" You wondered.

"He's not gonna get any deader."

"Is that even a word?" You asked Lemon, giggling when Tangerine rolled his eyes and snatched your hand to follow after him.

You and Tan had scoured the entire train, but had zero luck. The only direction the two of you had was from a young girl with a crisp bob haircut in first class, who told Tan she saw a man with black frame glasses with their desired case. Your mind flashed back to earlier, remembering the blonde man and how he had a briefcase. It must've been their briefcase.

He must've just lifted it when you boarded and accidentally ran into him. You hated how foolish you felt, but there was no way you could've known that was the case you were after. Still, you felt a pang of disappointment in yourself - some sick desire to impress your brothers with your skill, to prove to them you're capable of being in this line of work. That you weren't that little girl in the orphanage anymore, but a woman grown who was capable of making her own decisions and having greater purpose.

"Hey," you paused Tan in another connection that lead to the next train car, "you go ahead and update Lemon, I'm gonna pop into the loo."

"I'll wait," he nodded, his phone ringing. "Sorry, love, just a minute. 'S fucking business."

You only nodded and slipped into the bathroom, doing your business, washing your hands, and when you emerged, you jumped back slightly in shock when the Momonga mascot was standing right there in the doorway. You peaked to your right, and in the next train car, through the window, spied Tangerine on his phone, the car mostly empty to your left.

"You need in here?" You asked the mascot, but it just stared at you. "I mean, d-do you need help outta that God awful costume?" More silence. "Riiiight, well, this is weird as fuck. Soooo... I'm just gonna... Go..." You mumbled, slipping out of the bathroom, but was instantly blocked from Tan's view. "The fuck? Oi, c'mon, mate, my friend technically gave you the plushie back." More silence. "Look, you creepy motherfucker - "

But you gasped when the plush mascot shoved you backwards, forcing you to stumble into the automatic door leading to the empty train car - yelping when it opened and you fell backwards.

"Fuck! Goddamnit, that hurt," You snapped, rolling to your feet as the human-sized plushie waddled towards you; the back of your head throbbing from impact and the automatic doors closing to trap the pair of you. "What the fuck, mate? What'd I do? The fuck you want?"

When the oversized head was removed, your mouth went dry. "Remember me, bitch?" The Hornet seethed.

"Ah, fuckin' Christ."

The Hornet smirked, "You've seen my face, you know what that means? I gotta take you out. You've evaded me too long."

"Rome wasn't my fault!" You barked instantly, watching her begin to maneuver out of her costume.

"You got my partner killed, bitch!"

"It was an accident!"

"Bullshit, bitch!" She raged, shedding her mascot costume to reveal a train attendant's uniform - wondering how long she'd been waiting for this opportunity if she was prepared to this level. "You had a hit list, we were on it - "

"Oh, fuck off, as if you've never been given orders!"

Her neck cracked as she tossed the costume to an empty seat. "Time to get my revenge," she grit, "bitch."

"Learn some new insults, my God, you're so fuckin' boring. Throw in some 'cunts' or even call me a 'arsehole', just lay off the 'bitches'," your eyes rolled, dodging the Hornet's first flying fist and nearly stumbling off your feet. You exchanged blows, dancing around one another, grunting, growling, heaving for breath, trying to incapacitate the other. On a particularly hard push, the Hornet managed to dislodge your gun and send it under a set of seats.

"Not so tough now, are yah, bitch?" She laughed sarcastically.

You wiped a small dribble of blood from your lip, panting to heave your shoulders up and down. "All right, you asked for this. Bring it on - bitch!" You laughed right back, the Hornet lunging forward. However, you missed the way she pulled out a prefilled syringe and tried to stab you with it; luckily evading the injection.

"Know what's in here?" She taunted. "Boomslang venom! Yeah, that's right. Highly potent, hits your system in 30 seconds, making you bleed from every orifice - "

"I know, you stupid fucking wanker! I watch the bloody news! I went to college! I'm educated enough to know!"

The doors opened again, revealing Tangerine. "Fuckin' hell!" He snapped, "You all right, Olive!? Hey?"

"Stay back, Tan, this bitch is mine!"

The Hornet wailed as she launched at you again. You were battered and beaten, the other woman lobbing you into furniture, tables, and train walls - causing small cuts to form on your unblemished skin. Yet still, you barked at Tangerine to stay back, that you had this.

You and the Hornet ended up on the floor, trying to one up each other. However, luck was not on your side because the Hornet had you pinned and she simply dropped the syringe into the flesh of your hand. You didn't need to think too deeply, you just rolled over, snatched up the syringe, and stabbed her, too - exposing her to the venom by pushing the syringe's plunger. You both stared at one another with wide eyes, panting.

"30 seconds before the venom does its thing," you taunted, knowing that any good assassin kept the antidote on their person - just in case. Her eyes narrowed and tongue swept over her front teeth, weighing her options; eyes locked in a stalemate, daring the other to make the first move. Do nothing, you both die... Reveal the antidote, only one will die.

She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a new syringe, you lunging for it with impressive lithe to stab into your neck and push the plunger. She seethed, "You bitch."

You stumbled back a step, colliding with Tan's chest as neither of you could look away as the Hornet's eyes went red with blood filling every cavern and crevice. "Oh, shit, that doesn't look good," you winced in fake sympathy. "You've got another syringe, right? A back-up?"

She warbled and wheezed, "What do you think, bitch?"

"What's with the whole bitch thing?" Tan asked in your ear. "She know any other words?"

You only shrugged as blood poured from the Hornet's eyes, filling her lungs to drown her from the inside. "No second antidote? Ah, that's just poor planning on your end, love," you taunted when the Hornet dropped to the ground, choking, blood leaking from her mouth. "I mean, you only carry one antidote? I thought you were supposed to be a professional? With your choice of weapon being venom, I mean," you laughed a little, "seems pretty stupid."

The Hornet continued to choke, trying to crawl up the aisle, but only getting a few feet before the effects of the venom took hold fully. She flopped onto her back, the blood congealing in a thick and tacky substance; staining the stolen uniform and floors of the train.

"What the fuck was that?" Tan snapped, turning you to face him. "Are you hurt!?" He worried, checking you over for visible sign of injury; finding two puncture wounds - one in your neck and one in your hand. You were decorated in soon-to-form bruises, but no bones were broken and you seemed relatively okay besides the small cuts.

"Tan," you soothed, placing your hand over his on your cheek. "I'm all right, I'm fine. She just caught me a little off guard."

"What the hell was that, huh? You got some kinda death wish, is it?"

"It's all part of the job!"

"Like hell, it is! This is why I didn't want you involved - "

"'Cause I could get hurt? Fuck's sake - "

"Yes, all right!" He exploded. "Yes, because you could get hurt! I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to you, and look at yah now! I was on the fuckin' phone and you were fighting this... Wait, who the fuck is that?" Tan pointed at the dead body.

"Mh. The Hornet," you answered with a shrug. "She's been after me since Rome 'bout two years ago. I might be one of the very few who knows what she actually looks like - so, no wonder she wanted me dead. Plus... I might've allegedly, possibly, kinda-sorta got her partner killed. Turns out, he was also her lover and she's been after me since."

His head shook, "So now you have international enemies?"

"I mean, I guess it means I'm good at what I do - else they wouldn't bother to come after me."

"You shouldn't say that with pride! That's not how this works!"

"Tell me how you think it should work, then!"

Tangerine glared, "You shouldn't be involved. You worked too hard to become a teacher, to have a real career, and you threw it all away, for what? For this life?"

"What do you care, Aaron!? Honestly!? 'S been years, you just disappeared from my life! I don't think you have the right to boss me around anymore! We're not fuckin' kids anymore!"

He huffed a sharp exhale, "You seriously don't know? Really that fuckin' oblivious?"

"I can't read minds! Why don't you use your words like a big boy?"

Aaron, one of your longest standing friends and practically your family without blood, just nodded sadly. "I thought it would've been obvious by now," he sighed.

"What're you - "

"I love you," Tan interrupted. "Yeah? I fucking love you."

"Yeah, I know, and I love you, too, Aaron, but that doesn't - "

"No," he interrupted in a snap, face falling, "no, I meant that I'm in love with you. Jesus Christ," his hand wiped down his face, "been in love with you for years now. Maybe it started when you punched Tommy Jenkins in the nose when we were 16, maybe it started when we aged outta the orphanage and got our first apartment together. I don't know when I fell in love with you, but I know I am."

You paused, "A-Are you serious?"

"Deadly. But luckily you've already had a dose of antidote, eh?"

The chuckle you emitted was involuntary. But then, your irritation bubbled, asking, "Why hold it in all this time? And if you were in love with me, why not call? Why abandon me in the first place? I went four years - four, Tan! - without you and Lem, the two people I treasured the most, felt safe with, found a family in. Not a single one of my letters were returned; you deprived me of any phone call, not even a single text! You just disappeared from my life."

He bowed his head, "I had to leave, sweetheart. I couldn't keep yah around."

"Why? Tell me why right now, or we'll go another four years - "

"This job is dangerous, love, bit too dangerous in honesty. You know that, but to have emotional attachments only leads to error and a lot of hurt. I was trying to play it safe, thinking I was protecting you, because if any of our enemies knew how precious you are to me, they'd use you against me - they'd hurt you and I couldn't risk that."

"You can't protect me from everything," you whispered. "Aaron, you and Brian are my family, you always have been. Your whole life, you've protected me from the brutality of life, but you can't protect me from reality any longer. I'm sorry if me working upsets you, but I know what I'm doing, Aaron. I'm not fragile, I won't shatter."

"I know," he sighed, shaking his head. "I know it's irrational, love, but I can't go another day without you. I know it's been four years too long, I thought of you everyday, and never have I had such regret. Walking away from you, doll, it hurt worse than getting shot."

You sighed and avoided his eyes, admitting, "I like to think that in some twisted way, I entered this life in the hope that I'd run into you. Felt like the only way we could see each other since this line of work is so bloody unorthodox."

Tangerine sniffled, "I always wanted to come back, find yah again, but I couldn't risk it. I can't risk you. And listen, if you don't feel the same, that's all right, love, I know I just sprang this one you, but I just needed you to know - "

"Aaron, you need to stop shutting yourself down when you feel vulnerable," you sighed patiently, waiting for him to nod his head silently to indicate for you to continue. "Take a breath and listen to me." Another nod and you revealed, "I've been in love with you, too, since we were teens. I didn't want to disrupt what we have, so I stayed quiet. You and Brian - you're the only ones I care about, the only ones I want in my crazy, chaotic, unpredictable life. Too much time as already passed, we've missed so much, I don't want to miss another minute."

He crowded closer to you, both hands lifting to hold your cheeks and stare into your eyes. "Been waiting ages t'hear that," he whispered.

You smiled softly, "I love you, Aaron. Absolutely, maddeningly, unequivocally in love with you."

He chuckled and returned the sentiment, foreheads brought together before his breath fanned across your lips. He paused to give you time to reject him, but you boldly pushed yourself to meet his lips in a long-awaited kiss that set your heart and soul on fire. Mouths moved in sync, cheeky tongues mingled, teeth gently clanked together as you kissed passionately and without restraint. His hands dropped to hold your waist, your own curling around his neck to gently thread your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck; his curls feeling soft, moisturized, and bouncy.

You were rudely interrupted by your phone, Tan pulling back with a small smirk, "Gonna get that? Might be important."

"Promise 's just Constance," you grumbled, fishing for your phone and stepping away from Tan's embrace. "Hey, love," you greeted.

"Ah! Thank God! You're not shot yet!"

"No, not shot, just stabbed, earned a few bruises but I'm good," you snorted, looking under the seats to locate you gun. "What's up, why're you calling again, I told you I'd call you when I'm good."

"We have new intelligence."

"Lay it on me," you sent Tangerine a look; his face stoic, indicating he was listening intently.

"Your next stop is the last stop that the White Death's men aren't stationed at. If you wanna make a clean getaway, you gotta get off at the next stop. It's your last chance."

You winced, "Uh... About that, so, funny thing..."

"What did you do?"

"You always think the worst of me, I don't always do shit."

"Did you?"

You paused and glanced at the squashed Hornet, shrugging, "Not really, it's just not the cleanest job I've done."

"What happened?"

"You always assume the worst in me."

"You only prove me right."

You chuckled, "Yeah, all right, fair enough. Listen," you sniffled, turning to face Tan, "we don't have the case or the Son..."

"You better fucking find them. After this stop, all others are gonna be too hard to get off at. The White Death has men in position."

"Well... Funny thing, right," you winced, rubbing the back of your neck, "uh, so, it wasn't our fault, but the Son is dead. The Hornet got to him, used Boomslang venom, I got her after so you can register her as deceased."

"Oh, fucking Christ! You fuckin' serious? Please tell me this is just a bad joke."

"Why would I lie?"

You heard Constance take a deep long breath, knowing she was counting to ten in her head to keep her composure. "Okay, Olive, sweetheart," she spoke slowly, "tell me you know where the case is. Please. I need to hear the words."

"Pretty sure Maria's guy lifted it, but no confirmation yet."

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! Go fucking find him, get that case, and if you don't make the next stop, call me - there's always a backup plan."

"Let's just do Plan B, it'd save a helluva lotta time."

"Olive," Constance growled, "get the Twins, get the fucking case, and get off the fucking train before you all get fucking shot."

You nodded, "Yeah, all right, love, we're on it."

After hanging up, Tan mused, "So, how's Constance?"

"Uh, yeah, no, she's stressed," you cleared your throat. "Wait, how do you know her?"

"Our handler's collaborated with her before."

"Mhm... Okay, just listen, Aaron, I told you the White Death didn't hire me."

"Right."

"Meaning I need that case and I need you and Lem to get off this train with me. We're gonna get to a safe house - "

"No, no, love, we've our own agenda."

"The Son is dead, the case is missing, your job is literally fucked," you reminded sharply. "However, I can still make it worthwhile if we find the case and get off this train. C'mon, love," you pleaded, "you have to trust me. Please, just - don't go through with the last of this job, it's not gonna end well for anyone. But my way means we all get a chance at safety and keeping our lives."

His head shook, "We won't make it in time."

"We can try."

"We need to find Glasses first - and fucking Lemon."

You agreed.

"Looks like your luck's turned around, Joburg," Lemon sneered, the four of you coming to an agreement to take the case, leave the Son's body for the White Death to find, and get to your safe house.

"If it was up to me, we would've left him," Tangerine growled. "Seriously, love, why the fuck did we save him, too?"

"It was the right thing to do, we were all being set up," you explained, surveying the train station. "All right, c'mon, this way."

"So," Ladybug was heard, "you guys are, like, siblings?"

"Who? Us and Olive?" Lemon snickered, watching the blonde man nod. "Sure, mate, something like that."

"Seem real close, the way she risked her life for you two..."

"Well, they say the blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. 'Course we're gonna look after one another."

The three men followed you, Tangerine keeping a tight hold of the silver briefcase with a train sticker on the handle. When you made it outside the station without incident or interruption, there was a sleek Range Rover waiting at the curb - an old acquaintance of yours leaning on the grill.

"Olive!" The other agent greeted with a grin.

"Gouda," you returned with enthusiasm, hugging the man. "So nice to see you, thanks for doing this."

"Constance calls, I answer," he nodded, eyeing the three other agents behind you. "Huh... See you made some friends, did yah?"

"Something like that," you mused.

"How's it goin', Gouda?" Lemon asked, making your brows pinch.

"You know each other?" Your eyes shifted between the group.

"Unfortunately," Tangerine nodded with a sigh. "Mate..."

"Yeah, fuck you, too, Tangerine," Gouda sneered. "You know, Olive, your friend fuckin' shot me."

"Did you deserve it?"

Gouda paused, "Doesn't matter. All right, whatever, let's get goin', I'm supposed to get you to the safe house."

Everyone piled into the car, you in the passenger seat to give Gouda a rundown on the train's events. Why you needed the safe house. Why you got off before Kyoto, like was agreed upon. He agreed it was all a mess, telling you the team was still gathering information on the White Death's plan - something in motion that would've ended all your lives. Upon arriving at the safe house, you thanked Gouda, him telling you Constance would arrive in a few days to ensure you lot were smuggled out of the country - not trusting other methods as the White Death had associates planted everywhere.

The house was stalked fully with fresh food in the kitchen, a wall of racked weapons, money in a safe, and reinforced panic rooms in the event of an attack.

"Nice, very nice," Ladybug complimented, looking around the place. "Better than what we've got..."

"Pick your rooms, we'll be here a couple days. My handler's gonna work on getting us outta here without the White Death knowing. Maria negotiated terms for you, Mr. Bug, so you're staying with us."

Everyone spread out, finding the bedrooms fully equipped with new clothes and other necessities, like toiletries. Everyone was able to get long, hot showers, and eventually, when you exited the bathroom in a robe with a towel used to dry your hair, you found Lemon sitting on the living room couch - listening intently to the news report.

"Might wanna see this, love," Brian frowned, making room on the couch for you to sit.

"What's up?"

He nodded at the screen, you watching as a Japanese news station reported on a runaway bullet train that obliterated a local town. Your eyes widened, mindlessly translating the segment; Tangerine eventually joining you two. "What're you two watchin'?" He asked softly, standing behind the couch with his hands on your shoulders. From the opposite door that housed a few other bedrooms, Ladybug entered; the news catching his attention, too.

There was a tension in the air that couldn't be described.

"The White Death sent a fucking bullet train off the rails. All those innocent people..." You whispered, camera crews capturing the devastation and destruction caused. You realized, "He set us all up, he was gonna kill us all."

"Thank God for Constance. What the hell did we do to him, though?" Lemon wondered. "I mean, have any of us actually done a job for or against the White Death before?"

"No clue," Ladybug answered nervously, "but whatever we did, really pissed him off if that's his retaliation. What was the motive, though? Why put us all on the same mission? Same train?"

"Sounds like a vendetta," you answered, the room going silent as everyone contemplated your words. "C'mon, lads, 's been a day. Should get some shut eye."

"Yeah, yeah," Lemon sighed, "good idea. You'll let us know when Constance makes contact?"

You nodded in agreement, bidding them all a goodnight before heading for your designated room. It wasn't more than ten minutes later, you sat on the bathroom floor with an array of medical supplies spread around you in an effort to clean your wounds, when a knock sounded at your door. "Come in," you permitted, tending to a decent sized gash in your hairline.

"You all right?" Tangerine asked softly, leaning in the doorframe of your bathroom. He was dressed down in a pair of joggers and a black wife beater.

"Peachy keen, love."

"You know, this image, right here," he gestured to you, the blood drops on the pristine floor, and all the supplies you required, "is why I didn't want you involved."

You nodded slowly, "Yeah, but it's just the name of the game, you know?"

"Need help?"

"No, I'm about done," you sighed, tightening the gauze around your thigh, "but you can help me up, though."

He smirked and offered his hand, helping hoist you to your feet and sigh as he looked you over. You breezed past him, patting his chest under a blood-stained button up; entering your bedroom and dropping onto the bed to rub your tired feet. You watched Tan follow you, a question on the tip of his tongue that couldn't quite take form.

But Tangerine was a man of action, so he abandoned his words and knelt in front of you; caressing your jaw and cheek to sweep his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You were ready to question his unusually soft demeanor when he leaned in and pressed a sultry kiss to your lips - sucking the breath from your lungs.

You hummed in contentment when he pulled back with a small smirk, whispering, "Been wanting t'do that for ages."

"Took you long enough," you breathed, surging forward to wrap your arms securely around his neck and meet in a messy, passionate kiss that made both your heads spin.

Slowly, you felt Tan rise from his position and moved back on the bed to give him room to crawl over you; kiss never ceasing, only a tangled mess of lips, tongue, and teeth. You moaned with greed when his tongue swept against the seam of your lips, being granted access, letting your mouth mingle and dance together in unbridled passion you weren't even aware Aaron could harness.

"Fuck," you whimpered when he detached from your mouth and started down your neck; licking, scraping his teeth, creating a legion of markings as he went. After years of loving him at a distance, this entire ordeal felt surreal; as if in a dream or alternate universe. His hands squeezed your waist before drifting downward, caressing your hips, hoisting your uninjured leg up his hips before grinding his swelling cock into your pantie-covered cunt.

Your hands daintily fumbled with the material of his shirt, quickly shucking the material from his sculpted torso. You knew he was fit, but seeing him bare like this was something else entirely - mouth salivating, but being unable to truly appreciate him in his glory. You were both littered in bruises and cuts, evidence from fighting the entire night; careful with the injuries, happy with the soft, gentle way you caressed one another.

His hands moved to the tie of your robe, pulling the knot to release; able to slowly push the material aside and look down at your exposed flesh. No bra, no shirt, only a pair of panties under that robe. He licked his lips, meeting your eyes again. "C'mere," he whispered, sitting back, "waited too long, fuckin' hell."

You smirked and sat up, the both of you locking eyes and stripping from your cloth barriers as fast as you could. Reaching for him again, you crashed back into the mound of soft pillows, keeping him close; legs spread to accommodate his slender hips, holding his neck and shoulders to keep him where you wanted.

Tangerine grunted when you reached for his cock, stroking him slowly to full mast. Your lips were sticky, wet tongues wagging against one another to create webs of saliva when he pulled back. Gently knocking your hand away, Tangerine shimmied down your body, lips pressing quick pecks anywhere he could reach; pausing at your nipples and biting harshly.

You yelped with pleasure, back arching, Tangerine smirking at the reaction - mouth covering one breast as his hand pawed at the other to let his fingers pinch and tweak your nipple. His tongue flattened against your sternum, looking up to meet your eyes as he continued down your battered body until his face was nestled between your thighs. "Oh, Jesus fuck!" You moaned when he took his first taste.

He hummed, "Exactly my thoughts. Fuckin' hell, tastes bloody delightful - fuck me." He grunted and dove back in, latching his lips around your clit and using the fingers of his dominant hand to plunge knuckle-deep in your sloppy warmth. "That's a good girl," he praised, using two fingers to pump in and out, in and out, in and out - your body twitching as pleasure mounted to make you unable to lay still. "Mhm, look so fuckin' pretty like this - spread out, all f'me. Can't get tired of this sight," he moaned, lapping at your wetness.

"Aaron," you begged, gripping the curls at the crown of his head, grinding your hips up to his mouth. "Oh, God, yes, yes," you encouraged, breathing turning sharp and shrill. For a moment, you completely forgot where you were and why you were in a safe house; reality melting away when fully enraptured in Tangerine. "There, right there, holy shit," you whimpered when he prodded that one special place of your inner walls.

"Gotcha, love, I gotcha," he mumbled, sucking and flicking his tongue against your pearl as he focused fully on that spongey spot; causing a wave of slick to generate on his tongue. He grunted, bicep flexing as he pumped his digits faster and faster; his other hand laid across your lower belly to hold you in place.

"Shit!" You met a long-awaited crescendo, a little embarrassed by how quick you met your end - having been a few months since you were intimate with anyone.

But my God, none of them compared to Aaron. His body was slick with a light sheen of sweat, his mustache scraping your sensitive bud with his fingers still working against you. You tried to wriggle away, but Tan held you in place, his other hand now holding one of your thighs wide for his benefit. You forgot there were other occupants in the house, moaning and whimpering the longer Aaron lapped at your essence and messily fingered you.

You could've cried from the pleasure, pulling on his curls as a second orgasm washed over you. You, too, were now sweating, stomach knotted and legs beginning to shake slightly; thighs closing around his ears as your muscles contracted.

Tangerine chuckled when he pulled back, taking one more nip at your swollen and sensitive clit; sighing in satisfaction as he looked up at you, evidence of your pleasure smeared around his mouth, chin, and mustache. Cheekily, he wiped around his mouth, sucking his fingers clean while you tried to catch your breath.

"Jesus Christ," you chuckled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," you grinned, tugging on his curls again to indicate you wanted him back up with you. He didn't waste time to crawl over you, and when in place, you reached for his warm cock to place at your entrance.

"Oi, hang on, gotta rubber - "

"I'm on birth control, we're okay," you rushed. "Unless you're dirty?"

"Nah, love, I don't fuck nobody raw," he smirked, "but there's a first time for everything, huh?" Aaron laughed almost cruelly when he pushed his hips forward and notched his cock's head inside you, pausing a single moment to watch your reaction as he sunk deeper to stretch you out.

Maybe you had been depriving yourself all these years, Tan's cock being a size, length, and girth you've not handled before. Nobody compared, your cunt weeping with joy at finally having a challenge worthwhile; his balls swinging before being trapped between your bodies. He made a noise, a mix of a moan and whimper, readjusting his hold on you so he held one thigh and the other was supporting his weight by your head.

Your hand laid on his waist, the other around his neck; eyes locked in a passionate connection when he began moving. Your mouth opened in shock, huffing for air, unable to look away - blue eyes pinning you in place. His mouth descending onto yours, rolling his hips to create friction; cock head prodding your gummy walls as the muscles in his back and shoulders flexed with each movement. You lifted a hand to hold his cheek, tongues swirling around one another, Aaron increasing his pace a fraction.

Your nails dug into his flesh, leaving trails of raised, red scratches in their wake - yet it was as if he didn't even notice. "Know I love you, yeah?" Aaron whispered, veins in his neck protruding; heart hammering.

"Yeah," you nodded, wanting him impossibly closer, "yeah, Aaron, I love you, too, holy shit."

Maybe emotional intimacy turned you on more than you ever realized. He clenched his teeth, both hands pressed onto the mattress to support himself as he started to thrust faster. "Not gonna last, love, not with the way you're squeezin' me," he warned, a few stray curls falling over his forehead, his golden medallion swinging and knocking gently against your chin. "Jesus, fuck, you feel so fucking good," he rambled, "like you were fuckin' made for me - Goddamnit."

"We're idiots for waiting so long," you moaned.

"Won't ever be that stupid again," he laughed gently, looking down between you to watch himself disappear and reappear in and out of you; coated in your slick, veins of his cock now throbbing as he felt the familiar coil begin to tighten.

His thumb pressed to your clit and rubbed, your moans getting louder and longer; own hands groping your breasts and tweaking your nipples to add to the sensations Tangerine provided. "Baby," you whined, "'M close - "

"Get there, love, c'mon," he begged, "can't hold back - wanted this f'so long, fuck!" One hand slapped his away to let you control your clit, Tangerine grinning, "Naughty girl. Shit, that's a sight, innit?"

"Don't stop!"

Aaron growled, pinching his brows in concentration as he snapped his hips, the sounds of his balls slapping against you clapping around the room; mingling with your moans, groans, whimpers, and the thick smell of sex that hung in the air. "Feels so fuckin' good," he mumbled, straining himself to resist. "Tight and warm, Jesus fuck, my love, you're perfect - so fucking perfect - Goddamnit."

"There, there, there," you chanted, rubbing your clit vigorously while Aaron dissolved his restrain to hammer into your core with sloppy movements. "Yes, oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes! Please, Aaron, yes, right there, baby, please - don't stop!"

"Fuckin' cum for me, c'mon, love, let it go," he growled, teeth scraping over your collarbone before latching in a gentle bite on your shoulder. "That's it, there it is," Aaron moaned, feeling the restrictive flutter of your cunt, "good girl, good fuckin' girl, that's it."

Your mind went blank, unable to process anything other than Aaron's cock still hammering into you at a brutal pace; the entire bed creaking and rattling against the wall. You whimpered, lips parting when he didn't stop, encouraging, "Need you t'cum, baby, please. Wanna feel you in me - want your cum, fucking need it. C'mon, Aaron, c'mon, love, finish in me - fucking fill me, please, I need it."

"Yeah? Need it?" He grunted, cheeks flushing.

"So bad, need your cum so bad!"

He grit his teeth, humping all the faster before the warmth of your cavern became too much. "Shit!" Tangerine shouted, taking two more rolling thrusts before fully sheathing himself in you as rope of sticky, thick cum painted your inner walls. "Oh, holy hell," he panted, keeping himself still but his arms trembling to support himself as he pulled back only slightly. "All right?" He checked, glancing to where you two were conjoined. "You good?"

"Perfect," you nodded, petting up and down his sides as if entranced and in disbelief this happened. He felt so soft all of a sudden, a stark contrast to his stoic and aggressive personality. "You all right?"

He grunted and retracted his hips, cock springing free to let him crash on the bed beside you; both your lungs working in tandem to attempt to even out. "Absolutely, so fuckin' good," he told you, both staring at the ceiling for a moment before his head turned to look at you. He grinned slyly, chuckling, "That really happened?"

"Think so."

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic," he mused. "Stay put a second, love," he whispered, standing from the bed to venture into the bathroom. After a moment, he returned with a warm and damp washcloth, helping you clean up the cum leaking from your cunt; wiping away the messiness. He cleaned himself as well, you crawling under the covers of the bed - not bothering to redress.

When Tan joined you again, he snuggled into the sheets and opened his arm to welcome you into his side. It was weird, you usually hated sleeping with anyone, finding it too hot and restrictive, but laying there with Tangerine, you felt incredibly at peace.

"You know Constance isn't gonna be here for a couple days," you mentioned casually.

"Uh-huh."

"Think I just found our past time."

"Oh, darlin'," Tangerine chuckled, "we're not leavin' this bed."

"We'll have to eat."

"Least that Ladybug twat can do is bring us our food, eh?"

But you paused to consider something, laid on his chest and idly tracing the scars on his beefy chest. "Hey, Aaron?" You whispered.

"Hmm? What is it, love?"

"What's gonna happen when we leave here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, here, in Japan, we're together... But when we go home t'London, back to reality, what's gonna happen?"

"What? You mean, with us?"

"Yeah."

He snickered, "Why would anything change, love? I'm not just in love with you, here, in Japan, but everywhere - wholeheartedly. So, when we go back, we make this work. No matter what it takes."

"Really?"

Aaron grinned, "'Course, love. Went four long years without even seein' yah, I have no plans t'let you go again - not so soon, not ever." He stretched and tucked his free arm behind his head, "You're stuck with me, doll. That all right with you?"

You grinned up at him, "Perfect by me."

His lips found yours again, starting a very noisy night that made both Lemon and Ladybug clamp pillows over their ears.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Do not give them Toys

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

When the human government wished to initiate trade with the Filthrax Conglomerate the Filthrax were understandably cautious. They had always been sensitive when it came to sharing technology with other species. To that end they had an extensive amount of restrictions on what could and couldn’t be traded; excluding much of their more advanced technology from ever reaching the market.

The humans in comparison were technologically inferior to the Filthrax in nearly every aspect so they pictured the humans to heavily lobby for advanced technology to be made available. So it was with some surprise that when negotiations began the humans did not lobby for advanced technology, they instead seemed deeply invested in obtaining the Filthrax toys.

This was not something the negotiators had expected. Research into human culture had showed a deep rooted sense of aggression, towards outsiders and themselves when promoted, which made them believe that the first opening bid would be towards military grade technology.

Sensing the discord, the human diplomats explained that while they would like more advanced technology to be an option, they understood the hesitance and reluctance to trade such dangerous items. They said they would be fine earning the Filthrax’s trust over an extended period of time through trade. It seemed that several human enterprises had their eyes on Filthrax toys and they seemed like a safe enough items to begin trade. The Filthrax agreed and so trade lines were opened between the great powers.

What the aliens saw as a harmless deal was in fact the first foot in the door that could never be closed.

Several million orders for toys were placed almost overnight and the economic boon was felt overnight throughout the Filthrax Conglomerate. None of them understood the fascination humans had with their trinkets but if they were willing to pay then they would be more than happy to sell. It wasn’t until the Nexus Wars began that the Filthrax would come to understand their folly.

The “Nexus” was a series of star systems that held the majority of trade lanes between the core worlds and the far flung resource rich outer zones. Trade through these lanes was deemed to be the most stable for long distance transportation so whoever controlled these regions would make considerable wealth from their stewardship.

Current stewardship fell to the Omicron Empire who had held the systems for the last several hundred years and as such used the profits it generated to fund their empires expansion. The humans wished to control these routes to fund their own imperial ambitions but had never leveled the playing field with the Omicron military to make such a transgression possible.

Then, without warning, the human military launched a series of strikes against Omicron bases and fleets in the Nexus systems triggering the “Nexus War”. The Omicrons raised their fleets and armies and dispatched them to the systems with the full intention of repelling the humans and then carrying on their counter offensive into human space. What they met however was a suddenly technologically advanced human military spouting drastic advances in military equipment not seen.

Human soldiers now carried portable shielding units that blocked everything less than a direct hit from a hover tank, while their ships launched fusion bombs carrying a heavy enough payload to shatter Timbar class battleships in half.

With this new technology, the human military had taken control of half of the Nexus systems within five months of the wars start. Other powers dotting the stars took notice of the sudden prowess of the human military, as well as the calculations predicting that within another five months the Omicron Empire would be driven from the Nexus systems. Some cheered at seeing their old rivals in the Omicron’s brought low, others sent delegations to the human government pledging alliances and treaties, many more came to join the war effort now sensing blood amongst the stars; but to the Filthrax, they quickly came to realize the part they had played in this war.

While Filthrax toys were rather unremarkable, they were unique in the way that their power sources could last an entire lifetime. Through controlled energy distribution, the Filthrax had created a rudimentary power source that, while considered basic in their society, was light years ahead of any neighboring species.

The humans were well aware of this feature.

They knew before negotiations even began that the Filthrax would never part with their advanced weaponry or technology, but they would be willing to part with something they considered nothing more than a toy. Toys that were then torn apart to get to the power source, reverse engineered, and then used to power weapons and machines of human design.

Filthrax toys were now forming the basis for a new galactic power, and they had been fooled into giving them away for nothing more than currency.

The sudden realization sent shockwaves through the upper echelons of the Filthrax. If they admitted this they would be not only be publically humiliated on a galactic scale; but also be portrayed as cobelligerents in the war. Not only that, it would invalidate their own standing treaties with other species which specifically stated they would not trade anything that could be repurposed for war. They could see trade agreements torn asunder for a dozen species with even embargos placed upon their territories. Worse yet was if they did cease trading with the humans the human government could release the information and still black list them to the wider galaxy.

So they sat and watched the war from the sidelines, contemplating that their bobbles may have very well just doomed the universe.

[multiheadcanons]

MEMES AND TRAITS THE MERCS STOLE FROM SCOUT AND POORLY USE TO PISS HIM OFF

soldier: soldier started calling everything a “glizzy” after he heard scout say it exactly once. he was eating a hot dog and said “damn this glizzy is perfectly dressed.” he did not get it, he did not care enough to ask what that meant. he just started calling everything a glizzy. rockets? glizzy. ammo? glizzy. the medigun, fully charged and primed for an ubercharge? “HIT ME WITH THAT GLIZZY, DOC!” this was the beginning of the end with scout, once he got past the white knuckled shock of hearing that man say glizzy way too many times to the wrong things.

pyro: pyro eats up a whip and nae nae, no lie. they saw scout do it after a successful push of the payload, and everyone looked at scout weird, but pyro registered that smile, and those movements and committed it to heart. on the next battle, pyro physically dragged scout to a location near the edge of the map, and made a motion to stay still and watch. it freaked scout out until pyro air blasted one, two, three, four of the opposing team off the map; and after the fourth’s screams were cut short from hitting the bottom; they turned slowly to scout, and hit a whip. it’s the only time scout actually laughed. “yeah, get that shit pyro!”

demo: everything scout knows demo knew well before him, it just never came through right with his accent. but when scout started dapping people up demo was ALL IN for that. always brings scout in way too hard and knocks the wind out of him and stings his hands. “you’re not doing it right, lad! like this!” scout never wants to complain because it feels cool to get dapped up by someone he also thinks is cool, though he doesn’t want to admit that. scout does not want demo dapping up anyone else though because they’re not cool enough, except heavy he’s got no opinion on that because it’s funny to watch demo get the wind knocked out of him.

engineer: engineer hits that “gyat DAMN” often because of his accent. scout is convinced he’s using it wrong, that pisses engie off because it’s literally his accent and scout can get the fuck over himself he’s not from the first generation that made up language. sometimes to piss him off he’ll say skibidi toilet with no actual context to go around it. and scout hates that bc he hates skibidi toilet. also an enjoyer of the dap even when heavy and demo practically lift him off his feet with it.

heavy: heavy will dap people up. he loves it. makes him feel like he’s getting closer with his team. will always end a dap by pulling them in for a brief, yet crushing hug. everyone eats it up, laughing after they catch the breath he forcibly removed from their lungs and patting his arm or back, whatever the recipient can reach. also loves to say rizz, it makes his teeth vibrate in a good way. “doctor, you are a rizz master!” “demoman, keep rizzing your weapons!” “i LOVE my weapons rizz!” he doesn’t know if he’s using it right, scout just wholeheartedly assures him he’s using it right.

medic: medic heard scout say something fucks once. now, for him, EVERYTHING fucks. he himself DEFINITELY fucks. he assumed it’s a good thing. there was one time in the throes of battle, he managed to catch scout to heal him, and used the speed boost he got from it to catch up and yell over the din “you’re FUCKING today, scout!” and scout jumped his ass about how he’s not even using it right and he never wanted to hear that again. unfortunately, the doctor is a hellish bastard who loves pissing people off, so now everything does indeed fuck. he definitely fucks. “oh, my medigun? ja, that fucks. and i fuck too.” “doc, nobody wants to hear what you’re fucking, dude”. pissed scout off more when he and soldier were ubered, running into battle, and soldier said very confidently “your glizzy tops ALL OTHER GLIZZIES” and medic responded, making direct eye contact with scout in the heat of battle; “ja, my glizzy fucks.”

sniper: snipes dabbed twice in the privacy of his own nest to see how it felt and couldn’t get over his own shame that he did that. he did it twice because he alternated arms to see if it felt less stupid to do it the other way. it didn’t. he will never bring himself to do that again. that was embarrassing. has a dreadful feeling the other teams sniper saw him do it. sometimes after a really good kill streak he’ll do a small dab as a treat. he does unironically use “deadass”

spy: anything that will piss scout off spy is happy to do. spy has used words he knows does not exist to confuse scout as to the current slang going around. he’ll have scout on the internet desperately searching words that not only don’t exist, but he can’t even spell, just to make sure spy isn’t a step ahead of him. but spy is always two steps ahead of him. spy will say shit just to feel the bostonians eyes burn holes in the back of his skull, only to turn to him and say “what, you’ve never heard that before? look it up!” then hides in his room to watch him desperately search a word he can’t even spell. unironically uses “deadass” because he heard snipes say it once and it wriggled its way into his mind like a worm. he says it after like… everything.

[gremlins-hotel]

From the notes of Capt. Alfred Jones: "Davie was a bus and the 'Flying Fortress' moniker seemed to pass her by, but it was a ship with a brave crew. The trudge of getting back to England from enemy territory is a story for another day. I miss her and sometimes I miss the boys we lost that day."

-✪- -✪- -✪-

B-17F "Dear Davie": *U.S. Army Model B-17F-65-BO Air Corps Serial No. 42-29670 Delivered Cheyenne 31/1/43; Pueblo 18/2/43; Salina 15/2/43; Brookley 19/3/43; Smoky Hill 23/3/43; Dow Field 18/4/43. Assigned to the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group [TS-L] "DEAR DAVIE" 22/4/43; Missing in Action near Hamburg 25/7/43 with Alfred "Comet" Jones, **Co-Pilot: Daryl "Speed" Reed, Navigator: Richard Reed, Bombardier: Charlie Marstaller; Radio Operator: Johnathan Graves, Flight Engineer/Top Turret Gunner: Clyde "Pepsi" Ray, Ball Turret Gunner: William Ortlieb, Waist Gunner: Leslie Lipsey, Waist Gunner: Paul Rapoport, Tail Gunner: Thomas Pugh (6 Killed in Action); "DEAR DAVIE" lost to flak/anti-aircraft fire, crashing near Uetersen, 15 miles NW of Hamburg, Germany.

-✪- -✪- -✪-

[nerd things & acknowledgements below cut]

Notes on the B-17F... The B-17F was an upgrade of the previous E model, with several notable changes: A one- or two-piece plexiglas nose cone, as opposed to the ten-paneled cone of previous versions. Reinforced landing gear allowed for a greater maximum payload, from 4,200 lb (1,900 kg) of ordnance to 8,000 lb (3,600 kg). Flight and combat range of the F model was improved by 900 mi (1,400 km) with the addition of nine self-sealing rubber fuel cells in the wing root, aka, "Tokyo tanks". The F model was generally characterized by being tail-heavy - which lead to part failure - and woefully undefended from the front; the early F models had no front-facing armament, leaving a 60° blind spot to the direct front of the aircraft - a flaw which was exploited by German pilots, who held air superiority. Later F models would see a list of possible available modifications (factory and field) such as inserting two .50 caliber machine guns into the nose cone to solve the blind spot. Other modifications to later F models were bulged cheek turrets, as opposed to the window-mounted guns of earlier iterations, and the available addition of the iconic "Bendix" chin turret. The chin turret is far more common on the subsequent G "gunship" variant. ("Dear Davie" is an early F model without the nose mount, bulged cheeks, or chin turret.)

*This model production block, serial no., and fate are borrowed from real-life B-17F #42-29670, "Thundermug." "Thundermug" was an aircraft that originally served in the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group alongside my great-grandfather and his usual steed, "The Gremlins Hotel." It was transferred to the 544th BS/384th BG, at which point it went Missing in Action over Hamburg from flak/aa-fire; 8 of its crew became POWs while 2 were KIA. I have had the honor to speak to descendants of both of its crews and help them research "Thundermug"; I wish to voice a mere glimpse of their stories in a unique way.

**All names of Alfred's crew are either cobbled-together family names throughout our history here or entirely fictitious - though some were inspired by real people whom I grew up with stories of. All inspirations were individuals that lived good lives post-war.